


A Severed Memory

by Achellias



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker Leaves the Jedi Order, Canon Divergence, Eldritch Anakin Skywalker, It’s A Wonderful Life meets Star Wars, Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped - turned upside down, Original Mythology, Tatooine Mythology, Tatooine Slave Culture, The Force is Father of the Year ™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 112,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achellias/pseuds/Achellias
Summary: Anakin stopped struggling, feeling himself go limp in his friends’ arms. His knees loosened and his shoulders sunk weakly behind his arched back. He felt like he might have fallen if he wasn’t being held up.“You took my life,” he whispered, the screeching and creaking of the walls coming to a halt, plunging them into a terrible and stifling silence.Palpatine seized Anakin’s unsteady eyes, commanding him to see the truth, still smiling hauntingly.“No, Skywalker,” he murmured. “You gave it to me.”_________________________________________________________________________Years after the Clone Wars have ended, peace has been restored to the galaxy and the reformation of the Republic is underway. However, upon the discovery of an ancient Sith artifact in the bowels of the Jedi Temple, Anakin uncovers Palpatine’s final revenge, and wakes up in a world where he was never born. Now forced to navigate his way through a galaxy ruled by the Sith — without friends who have any remembrance of him — Anakin must again restore balance, before he is erased from existence forever.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine & Anakin Skywalker, The Force & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 114
Kudos: 363





	1. Prologue

The lightning swirled around Mace’s lightsaber, twisting and mangling as Palpatine continued his barrage. The hot and searing sparks cut through the air, fading quickly in the gleam of Coruscant’s traffic. Mace beared down on his opponent, who shrunk back in kind, crying out for Anakin’s help. His mercy.

Both of them expected his allegiance. Betrayal was inevitable, no matter what side he chose.

The sudden weight of the moment settled upon him, wearing at him like wind and howling in his ears. All his life Anakin had been the unknown audience of the galaxy, privy to every thought, every emotion; the tempest of life and noise and passion had overwhelmed him, even equipped with the training and knowledge of the Jedi, the Force engulfed him, drowned him.

Obi-Wan had always chastised him when it came to meditation, lecturing that if he never opened himself up to the Force, he would never be able to listen. Little did Obi-Wan know that Anakin could barely _hear_ above the storm, that the whisper the Jedi so yearned to catch had deafened him long ago.

It had never been louder than it was then.

As both Mace and Palpatine turned to him, Anakin stepped back, considering them both.

The whisper grew.

He considered his mother, the war, Qui-Gon. He remembered Obi-Wan, who had yet to grow out his beard, adjusting his small grip on a training saber at the Temple. He remembered the severance of his Padawan braid, and a moment later, his right arm. There was no longer a whisper, but the beginnings of a cry. It sounded like an apology. Like Obi-Wan.

_“I have the power to save the one you love.”_

The cry turned into a howl.

_“You must choose!”_

The Force screeched and tore at him. Anakin looked to Mace, blinking as the lightning continued to crackle. He remembered their first meeting. Anakin recalled his own uncertainty and fear, and with even greater clarity, he remembered Mace’s. Palpatine seemed to possess the faith that the master lacked. A man with the immense task of overseeing the wellbeing of the entire galaxy had made time for him, on countless occasions, whereas other Jedi looked at him and felt only disappointment, skepticism, or dread. He felt the cold that he made them feel.

Anakin’s ears were ringing now and his stomach lurched as Palpatine’s eyes bored into him.

_“Learn to know the dark side of the Force, and you will be able to save your wife from certain death.”_

A memory of Padmé from before the Jedi, before the war, suddenly struck him. He was handing her the japor snippet, and she was gently accepting it. He could sense her surprise, amusement, and something else he couldn’t then place through the Force, as he asked her not to forget him. He remembered feeling ashamed and embarrassed when she held his prosthetic hand for the first time, and how she held it against her cheek to assure him she didn’t think any less of him for it. He remembered their reunions after he had been away for months, and how they had held each other so tightly for fear of the other slipping away. He remembered his nightmare of her, and her scream blended with those already swirling around him.

The cries of the galaxy descended on him as Palpatine begged Anakin to save him. He stumbled back once more, and became aware he was holding his breath. As the air escaped his lungs, in that split-second, Anakin allowed himself to sink into the noise. Suddenly, he was submerged in the uproar of the universe, buried by the sea of sound. He forced himself to overcome the sheer mass of it all, swimming to the surface, fearing his heart might burst at any second under the pressure.

Before he knew it, his head was above the water and he could breathe.

And everything was quiet.

He was still in Palplatine’s office, the man still at Mace’s mercy and staring at him expectantly. Mace raised his saber to strike Palpatine down.

But Anakin beat him to it.


	2. The New Republic

Obi-Wan had been surprised, to say the least, upon hearing of Padmé’s pregnancy. He had felt almost a little hurt before he realized that Anakin himself had only found out about it a few days beforehand, as well as the fact that they had every right to keep the secret from him. That realization had stung at first, as did Anakin’s resignation from the Order barely a month later, but Obi-Wan would rather never see Anakin again and know that he was happy, rather than see him suffer in silence each day.

Obi-Wan’s melancholy was quickly quelled, however, after holding Luke in his arms for the first time.

He thought he might cry — well, if Yoda wasn’t there. “He looks just like you”, he had beamed at Anakin, holding Luke’s petite hand between his calloused fingers. After all he had seen and lost during the war, Luke and Leia inspired new hope in him, rekindling a tired, yet bright flame that had not burned so fervently since Qui-Gon’s death.

Obi-Wan had come to Naboo with a small group of Jedi that included Plo, Yoda, Aayla, and Ahsoka. Officially they had come to meet with the Queen and her court, but before leaving the planet, they had made a deliberate stop at Varykino. As soon as the ambassador shuttle touched ground and the Jedi departed the ship, Padmé’s nieces immediately ran out to greet them, followed exasperatedly by an exhausted looking Jobal and a chirping R2. They immediately bounced across the stone walkway to Obi-Wan, thrilled to see the strangers in the curious robes with the peculiar weapons hanging at their hips.

“Are you Master Obi Kenobi?,” Pooja piped without hesitation.

Obi-Wan knelt down to reach the girls’ eye level and held out his hand in greeting. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he smiled, “Jedi Knight. And I am at your service, my lady.” The girls giggled at the title, shaking his hand nervously when Jobal finally caught up to them.

“Oh, Master Jedi! My apologies,” she bowed fervidly. “The children —”

“Have not caused any harm, Madam,” Obi-Wan quickly reassured her, rising from his knee. “Thank you for welcoming us to your estate.”

Jobal smiled tiredly and Obi-Wan smiled back. “It is our pleasure, General.”

Pooja and Ryoo had taken to dancing around Ahsoka, asking about her lekku and if they could have their own lightsabers like hers. Plo and Aayla watched, obviously humored. R2 rolled up behind the girls, beeping excitedly, and nudged Ahsoka in an effort to get her attention.

“Hey Artoo,” she grinned, and bent down to pat his domed head.

“You know Artoo too?,” Ryoo gaped excitedly.

Ahsoka allowed herself a chuckle. “We’re old friends,” she smiled.

Jobal had then led them all to the courtyard, where they were greeted by Ruwee, Sola and Darred. Ruwee shook each of their hands with great enthusiasm, politely questioning how their conference with Queen Apailana went, and if there was any way he could make them more comfortable. Yoda seemed to find all of this quite amusing.

“Appreciate your hospitality we do, Mr. Naberrie,” Yoda began, “but to see your grandchildren is all we request.”

Ruwee stumbled, but quickly recovered, nodding his head. “Of course Master Jedi. I’ve already fetched for them.”

As if on cue, Padmé suddenly emerged from inside the villa, and upon seeing the crowd gathered, she broke into a smile. As she hurried toward them, Obi-Wan’s eyes fell on the bundle she cradled in her arms, struck by the brilliant and pure aura that swelled around it in the Force. His first encounter with Anakin flashed in his mind.

Padmé was beaming by the time she had reached her guests, and Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine that he had ever seen her more content. “It’s so good to see you all.” She gazed tenderly at Ahsoka and Obi-Wan before tilting her head and drawing the baby closer to her chest. “I appreciate that you have spared this precious time to come to see us.”

“Of course Padmé.” Obi-Wan knew that the appropriate addresses of ‘Senator’ and ‘Master Jedi’ were behind them; they had been through too much together.

Yoda hobbled forward. “Tell us Senator,” he inquired softly, “who might this be, hmm?” He motioned to the child in her arms.

Padmé released a contented sigh and lowered the bundle from her chest. “This is Leia,” she murmured, glowing with warmth.

Anakin’s daughter, Obi-Wan thought. _Anakin’s daughter._ It seemed blasphemous almost, wrong, rolling it over in his head, but how could it be? When the image of Padmé lovingly holding her child was so right?

“She’s beautiful,” Ahsoka marveled.

“Would you like to hold her?,” Padmé asked.

Ahsoka nearly seemed taken aback at first, but eagerly accepted the child into her arms, cradling her in the crook of her elbow so that Plo and Aayla could see her face. “Just wait until Rex and I can tell you all the embarrassing stories about your dad,” Ahsoka cooed, swaying Leia back and forth.

Speaking of Anakin, Obi-Wan wondered, where was he? As if she could read his mind, Padmé answered his question before he had the chance to ask it. “Anakin will probably be out in a moment,” she said, “he’s just finishing feeding Luke.”

Obi-Wan felt his brain do a double-take. “There are two of them?,” Ahsoka blurted.

“Oh!,” Padmé laughed, “I guess that was something I forgot to mention.”

Sola moved to stand next to her sister and patted her on the shoulder. “Our Padmé is full of surprises,” she smiled. Padmé only looked at her sister in disapproval.

“Two children strong in the Force . . . that is indeed a rare occurrence,” Plo affirmed.

“No doubt a result of their father’s unique sensitivity,” Yoda added, turning to look at Leia once more. “A great career as a Jedi, she could have,” he said. Padmé answered him with a knowing expression and a hint of a smile, but said nothing. “Or perhaps not,” Yoda finished, though his eyes twinkled, understanding the senator’s resolve.

Ahsoka deposited Leia back into Padmé’s arms, before suddenly turning her attention behind her. Obi-Wan followed her gaze to see his former padawan standing at the entrance to the courtyard, holding a baby boy in his arms.

* * *

Obi-Wan could scarcely believe now that Luke and Leia were three. He and Rex had become honorary uncles in that time, and Ahsoka their favorite aunt (not that anyone would ever tell Sola that). After spending about a month on Naboo after the birth of their children, Anakin and Padmé had returned to Coruscant to deal with the fallout of the Chancellor’s death and the revelation that he had puppeted the entire war.

The Republic was in chaos, and Padmé had been loath to sit by and watch it crumble after she had spent the last three years trying to save it. Bail and Mon had both urged her to run for Supreme Chancellor, but Padmé had argued that the galaxy didn’t need another senator from Naboo usurping control from the previous leader. Besides, the HoloNet had _exploded_ when news of her pregnancy broke, and the scandal had only worsened when it was discovered that the father of her children was a Jedi, the poster boy of the Republic, no less. This was not the climate for her ascension to a higher level of office — another time, perhaps. Instead, they had nominated Mon, and with the appeal of her involvement with the Delegation of 2000, she had won the approval of the Senate more easily than anticipated.

Eventually, multiple Separatist systems were reabsorbed into the Republic with the arrest of Nute Gunray, Wat Tambor, and other Separatist leaders, but a great many decided to remain independent, and legitimize the Confederacy of Independent Systems under a new parliament that was no longer governed by Dooku. Though there was still tension between the two governments, the war had been so catastrophic that no one, no matter their convictions nor positions, had it in them to continue the fighting.

The Jedi utilized this opportunity to not only rebuild, but reestablish their purpose in the galaxy, journeying to war-torn planets and hives of slavery and corruption to spread and preserve the newfound peace not just in the Core, but the Mid and Outer Rims.

During this time Anakin went back to Tatooine. He had informed Obi-Wan that he had family there, and though he was reluctant to go, he had a responsibility. Anakin had later told him that he had met with his step-brother and sister-in-law, apologizing for the way he had acted upon their first meeting, and that he was grateful to them for saving his mother from spending the rest of her life in slavery. Anakin said that, despite barely knowing each other, they were still family, and his mother would have wanted them to look out for one another. “The biggest problem in the galaxy is that no one helps each other,” he recited, before offering them a home on Naboo. His step-brother, Owen, didn’t seem to think much of this visit and his estranged brother’s sudden offer to buy them a way off Tatooine, but Beru had hugged him with such force that she had nearly squeezed the air out of him, Anakin said.

Before leaving the planet however, he had spent several more weeks there, helping to organize the local abolitionist cells and teaching slaves how to remove their transmitter chips, as well as how to shoot a blaster. About two months after Anakin left Tatooine, the Jedi Council was notified that Jabba had been killed at his palace, shot in the head by one of his dancers.

* * *

  
  



	3. Elysia

The Jedi Temple was undergoing renovations for the first time in perhaps four hundred years. It had been nearly five years since the hangar bombing that had resulted in Ahsoka severing herself from the Order, and in that time reconstruction hadn’t seen completion due to the war and the subsequent reformation of the galaxy that had left the Jedi even more spread thin.

Now that the Republic was re-emerging from its well of debt and was again experiencing an unprecedented time of peace, the Jedi were able to properly see to restoring their ancestral home. The initial restoration of the hangar bay led to a structural revision of other surrounding parts of the Temple, and older walls were being knocked down to open up the space.

What the construction crew hadn’t expected to find were undiscovered tunnels built into the foundation of the building.

“Do we know how old they are?,” Obi-Wan asked. They were gathered in the High Council Chamber, debating the origins of the unearthed tunnels, which they had soon realized ran throughout the entire Temple. “That could give us some sort of hint as to their purpose.”

Yoda shook his head. “Older than I am, they are,” he announced, looking concerned. “Hidden, by ancient Jedi, they were. But for what purpose I know not.”

An uneasiness swept the room as some of the Masters turned to each other in uncertainty.

Mace straightened. “If they were indeed hidden from us by our predecessors then it was likely for our own protection. Investigating these tunnels could be dangerous.”

“Built on a vergence corrupted by the Sith, the Temple was,” Yoda turned to Mace. “I fear the machinations of our fallen enemy may have a hand in this.”

“But as long as whatever sits at the heart of the tunnels under the Temple remains there, it will continue to be a threat,” Ki-Adi argued, leaning forward in his chair. “Are we to simply cover up what we found and hope that the potential danger does not strike at our ignorance?”

“We don’t know for certain if what is down there is indeed a danger to us,” Obi-Wan protested.

“There are no records that we could find of their existence in the Archives,” Plo noted. “Perhaps that is for a reason.”

“I think sooner or later we’re going to have to investigate,” Obi-Wan appealed, shaking his head. “Whether we like it or not.” Yoda grunted, looking thoughtfully around the chamber. The other Jedi again glanced at one another in anticipation of the Grand Master’s judgement, a few of them shifting in their seats.

“Afraid that right you are, Obi-Wan”, Yoda agreed. “Summon young Skywalker to the Temple, you should.”

Surprise reverberated amongst the Council, and Obi-Wan felt the waves of confusion and hesitance rolling off himself. He looked questioningly to the Grandmaster. 

“One last task,” Yoda began, “the Force may have for him.”

* * *

Anakin strolled through the Senate executive building, passing office after office. He remembered the first time Obi-Wan had taken him there, introducing him to a myriad of Senators whose names had quickly escaped his memory, and explaining how the Senate acted as a cornerstone of their system of government. Anakin smiled as he recalled being distracted by all the maintenance and protocol droids running around as Obi-Wan’s words filtered in one ear and out the other.

At his heels skipped Luke and Leia, trailing under his cloak, a gift from Obi-Wan, and prancing about him as he strode to Padmé’s office. As he made his way around the corner, Anakin spotted Bail.

“Senator Organa!,” he waved. Bail immediately took notice of him, and chuckled when he spotted the twins bounding around their father.

“Anakin,” he greeted cordially, approaching him. “How are you?” Bail had always been close with Obi-Wan, especially since their mission to Zigoola, but since the twins’ birth, the two of them had developed the opportunity to become friends.

“I assume you’re on your way to see Padmé?,” Bail guessed, smiling at Luke and Leia.

“We’re bringing Momma her lunch”, Luke informed him matter-of-factly, clinging to Anakin’s knee.

“I see”, Bail laughed, noticing the steel tin tucked under Anakin’s arm.

He turned back to the former Jedi. “I just came from her office. We just concluded a meeting with Chairman Papanoida and Senator Chuchi regarding Pantora’s trade deals,” he informed him. “You’ll probably be able to catch her before she heads off to another conference.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Anakin said, looking down to see Leia tugging at his cloak.

Bail suppressed a laugh. “I won’t keep you,” he smiled.

Leia burst into Padmé’s office like a supernova, startling C-3PO and nearly knocking him over in her dash towards her mother. “Momma!,” she squawked, Luke hot on her tail. Padmé rose from her desk to scoop her daughter into her arms, laughing as her brother demanded to be picked up as well.

A pair of hands suddenly manifested behind Luke, lifting him up to his sister’s eye level. Anakin, holding his son against his chest, leaned down to kiss Padmé’s forehead and used his free hand to embrace her. They stayed that way for a moment, the four of them, before Leia started wriggling impatiently, mumbling that she was being squished.

“We brought you lunch!,” Luke exclaimed as his feet returned to the ground, pointing to the tin Anakin had set on Padmé’s desk.

“How thoughtful,” his mother beamed, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Hey!,” Leia stomped her foot on Padmé’s padded carpet, “I helped bring it too!”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Padmé gently cupped her daughter’s face in her hands, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you very much.”

“Do I get one too?,” Anakin teased as Padmé stood back up, entwining his fingers with hers. She laughed and leaned into him as he let his head rest on hers.

“You brought soup?,” she asked.

“Yep,” he replied. “It’s probably cold now though. Sorry.”

“Mmm, that’s fine,” she paused. “Is it red gourd?”

“Your favorite”, Anakin grinned.

It still seemed strange, Padmé thought, to be hugging her husband in full view of the window of her office where anyone could see them. After all that time running around in secret, Padmé still hadn’t completely adjusted to the publicity of her marriage, though she was glad it no longer had to be hidden, of course. It had been somewhat of an open secret, she silently mused, especially once her pregnancy came to light, but Padmé had never felt more relieved than when she had finally admitted the truth to her family. She had never felt ashamed of her marriage, but to be free from the lies and deception had lifted a weight from her shoulders she hadn’t even noticed the breadth of until it was gone.

Breaking her thoughts was the comm on Anakin’s wrist, beeping about an incoming communication. Padmé detached herself from him to allow him to answer. Anakin glanced at her quizzically before accepting the call.

“Anakin?,” Obi-Wan’s voice broke the silence.

“Obi-Wan?,” Anakin questioned, raising his eyebrows. He and Obi-Wan were not often out of contact, they were still just as much a part of one another’s lives despite Anakin’s departure from the Jedi, but Anakin hadn’t seen his former master properly in months on account of Obi-Wan’s responsibilities as a Jedi.

“Anakin, I’m sorry to bother you, and I understand this is a sudden solicitation, but . . . ,” Obi-Wan hesitated, “the Jedi Council has requested your presence.”

* * *


	4. Cipher

“Are you going to see Uncle Obi-Wan?,” Luke was shadowing his father as he rushed about their apartment. Anakin had almost stepped on him earlier in his haste.

“I’m just going to be gone for a few hours”, he bent down and ruffled Luke’s hair, stopping for a moment to look outside in the direction of the Jedi Temple. After receiving Obi-Wan’s message, Anakin returned home to bring Luke and Leia back to the apartment and Padmé had insisted on coming with him. She had already called Rex to ask if he was up for an impromptu caretaking job, as she still had business to return to at the Senate, and he had accepted the task without hesitation.

“What do you think they need you for?,” Padmé asked her husband, walking into their bedroom. She followed his gaze across the Coruscant skyline.

“I have no idea,” he blinked, “I never really saw myself ever going back.”

Padmé looked at him. She wondered what it was like, to leave behind the all-consuming and demanding life of the Jedi to embrace all that they were conditioned to reject, and then suddenly be summoned back to it all.

Anakin still had ties to them, he maintained friendships with other Knights, and of course Ahsoka had returned to the Order — Obi-Wan had told Padmé that she reminded him a lot of Qui-Gon these days, very much a free spirit like her old master — but Anakin’s connections to the Jedi ended there. He had even given Obi-Wan his lightsaber when he left.

He turned to her. “Whatever it is, I think . . . I think it might have something to do with Palpatine.”

Padmé faltered for a moment, but recomposed herself quickly.

She remembered that night. Padmé wasn’t force sensitive, but over the course of her pregnancy she had noticed how she seemed to become more aware of the emotional and mental landscape of those around her. She had surprised Bail once by practically reading his mind during a meeting, blurting out the remainder of his sentence and leaving him, Mon, Senator Danu, and herself gobsmacked.

“How did you know I was going to suggest retracing Kaminoan investments to trail what business they were conducting with the Banking Clan prior to the start of the war?”

Padmé almost betrayed herself, the response, “Motherly intuition,” hanging on her tongue. “I didn’t,” she nearly stumbled, trying to force a smile. “Just . . . reason.”

Bail’s face had still betrayed his stupefaction, and Mon and Danu exchanged quick glances with each other, but they didn’t press her any further. It wasn’t long after that incident that Padmé was at a Senate banquet when she realized she was getting an awful lot of side-eye from Yoda every time she walked past him.

When her husband had returned to her apartment and crumpled into her arms that night, confessing that the Chancellor had been killed at his hand, Padmé could _feel_ the waves of fear and dread and loathing rolling off of him, swirling in a tempest of terror.

She knew that Palpatine’s revelation of his identity and subsequent death had shook Anakin to his core. Like her, the man had been a mentor to him, and more than that, a friend.

Or so they’d thought.

But even now, Padmé knew Anakin was haunted by how close he had come to becoming unraveled in Palpatine’s designs, that the man he had trusted for the greater part of his life had lied to him so transparently for so many years.

“Are you sure?,” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. He studied her face for a moment and for a second Padmé wondered if she saw a long dormant despondency flicker in his expression.

“What else would they want me for?” He smiled, but Padmé wasn’t sure it was genuine.

“Mistress Padmé?,” 3PO hobbled up behind them. “It seems that the, ah, caretaker has arrived.”

Anakin and Padmé returned to the apartment lobby to find Rex with a twin in each arm. “Got here as soon as I could, General,” he smiled. Rex still hadn’t abandoned the now-defunct title, but Anakin didn’t mind. It was memento, perhaps. A measure of respect. 

“Thanks for coming, Rex,” Anakin replied gratefully, relieving him of Luke. “I can always count on you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Rex answered, “Lookin’ after these kids is always a treat. They keep me on my toes.” He bounced Leia on his arm to be rewarded with a flurry of giggles.

Anakin recalled when Rex and Ahsoka had returned to Coruscant after capturing Maul. The situation was chaotic. Grievous, Dooku and Palpatine were all dead, and the Separatists, Republic Senate, and Jedi were all in complete disarray. It had been quickly discovered when Lott Dod attempted to make a clandestine call to Nute Gunray that the Separatist Council was on Mustafar, and a team of Jedi and clones were sent to capture them and bring them back to the capital. Gunray, Shu Mai, and San Hill all confessed to conspiring with Darth Sidious, who at that time had already been revealed to the Senate as the former Supreme Chancellor. Poggle, as well as a few other members of the Council refused to speak, but the truth had already been revealed.

The Separastist Parliament initiated a transmission to the Senate shortly after. Senators Kerch Kushi and, surprisingly, Voe Atell appeared, asking for an immediate ceasefire and if the Republic would be open to negotiations. It seemed that the idealism of the Separatists, of the Senators who only sought to establish a government that would serve and protect their homeworlds better than the corrupted state the Republic had unfortunately become, had been taken advantage of. The shroud that Sidious had cloaked over the galaxy was beginning to disperse.

Once Ahsoka and Rex made planetfall, Ahsoka had immediately dragged the newly promoted commander off to find Anakin. She had sensed his distress when he was in Palpatine’s office, and had found him at the Jedi Temple with Yoda, Mace, Obi-Wan, and a very pregnant Padmé. _That_ had certainly been a memorable moment.

It had only been when Anakin and Padmé returned to Coruscant after Luke and Leia were born that Rex had the privilege of meeting them. Ahsoka had told him they were all going to have their hands full with _three_ Skywalkers running around when she came back from Naboo. Rex had laughed at the time, though he didn’t doubt her words. He was sure that if there was one thing to be inherited from Anakin it was his unrivaled penchant for unintentional chaos. That wasn’t what had occupied his thoughts when his general handed Luke to him for the first time, however.

Rex had never possessed the luxury of comfort. His world was dominated by war, and though he found purpose in his cause, it wasn’t a life of content. Holding Luke that day, Rex was embraced by a new sense of serenity. He was a soldier. The only moment he could recall having to handle anything with such care was when he had cradled Fives in his arms as he died. Rex hadn’t even realized that he had started to cry.

“We really can’t thank you enough,” Padmé smiled fondly as Leia ran her hands over Rex’s stubble. “It’s my pleasure, Senator,” he chuckled. “When can I expect you back?”

“I’m not sure how long Anakin will be gone, but I know I’ll be home before the evening traffic kicks up,” she said, glancing at her husband.

Luke squirmed in his father’s hold to look up at him. “Are you gonna be gone long?,” he asked quietly. Anakin smiled softly.

“I’ll be right back”, he pressed his forehead to his son’s. “I promise.”

Luke in turn wrapped his small arms around Anakin’s neck. “I miss you when you’re gone,” he mumbled into his father’s shoulder. A memory of Shmi flashed in Anakin’s mind.

“I’ll only be a few hours,” he assured him, rubbing his back. “Before you know it, I’ll be home.”

After settling Luke down, Anakin kissed his daughter and thanked Rex again before heading out to the veranda with Padmé. He opened the hatch of his starfighter, which he had amazingly been permitted to keep after leaving the Order, and turned towards his wife. He was still feeling . . . awkward about going back to the Temple. He didn’t know what to expect once he arrived. She wrapped her arms around him, understanding his hesitation.

“You know they don't have the authority to scold you anymore,” she tried to joke. “They’re asking for your help.”

“I know,” he mumbled, shifting in her arms. “I know.”

He lifted his head back to look at her before embracing her tightly. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.” He detached himself from her slowly and climbed into the fighter.

“I love you too,” Padmé waved as the hatch closed over him. He smiled at her one last time before taking off and soaring away.

* * *

Landing in a newly remodeled hangar bay, Anakin was surprised to see a reception waiting for him. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were standing in the middle of the hangar; Anakin could see his former padawan beaming as he clambered out of the starfighter.

“Hey, Snips,” he laughed as he made his way towards them.

Ahsoka grinned, immediately throwing her arms around him. “Hey, Skyguy.” He accepted her hug gratefully. She was almost as tall as him now, her montrals giving her a bit of a boost. Ahsoka was one of the youngest knights in the Order, promoted not long after her return to the Temple after the Siege of Mandalore. Anakin suspected that a fair amount of guilt had been involved in the Council’s decision to knight her, but, nonetheless, he had never been prouder.

As Ahsoka released him, Obi-Wan met Anakin’s gaze and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Anakin.” His eyes twinkled.

“It’s good to see you too,” he sighed, and he meant it. Anakin had spent ten years following Obi-Wan all over the galaxy, and then Obi-Wan had spent three years chasing him right back across it. They were two halves of a whole. Even after a few years, neither had completely acclimated to life without the other.

As his friends led him out into the hallway corridor Anakin questioned Obi-Wan as to why he was there. He had tried to ask before when Obi-Wan initially commed him, but his former master had only told him that he would get an explanation once he met with the Council.

“I promise we’ll get to the heart of the matter once everything can be explained in detail.”

“You’re not even gonna give me a h—,”he started to tease, when he saw the debris of the excavated wall and gaping hole in the floor when they turned the corner in the hall.

A few temple guards were dotted around the area, and lines of tape marked where the zone was off limits.

“That’s new,” Anakin finished, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s why you’re here,” Obi-Wan answered. Anakin turned to Ahsoka, who shrugged.

“Come,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head. “We mustn’t keep the Council waiting.”

* * *

Anakin felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he boarded the turbolift that was to carry him up the Temple Spire. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the seconds passed by agonizingly slowly. None of them had said another word since leaving the excavated site, and Anakin was hopelessly lost as to what that could have to do with him.

The turbolift doors opened and the three of them made their way to the Council Chamber doors, but before they entered Ahsoka stopped and bowed politely to them. “This is as far as I go, Master,” she said to Anakin. “Good luck in there.”

“You’re not coming in?,” Anakin queried.

“The Council asked for you, not me,” she replied. “But I’ll see you around.”

He could only smile in return before bowing back. “Thanks, Ahsoka.”

“Sure thing, Master.”

And then it was just him and Obi-Wan.

“Come on, my friend,” he said softly, and the two of them entered the chamber.

Nothing had changed since Anakin had last set foot in the room. The last time he was there was the night of Palpatine’s death, he remembered, sobering. Other than the Masters who had replaced Kit, Saesee Tiin, and Agen Kolar, the Council Chamber was largely the same; Anakin recognized Tiplee, Luminara, and Va Zharro as new faces to the assembly.

Reaching the center of the room, Obi-Wan left Anakin to take his seat, and as soon as he did Anakin became aware of the thickly apprehensive atmosphere in the space.

“Young Skywalker,” Yoda’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “Thank you for coming, we do.”

“Of course, Master Yoda,” Anakin bowed, out of habit. Now that he was physically back in the Temple his old way of life didn’t seem so far away anymore. Mace’s eyes drilling into him certainly wasn’t anything new.

“Fear we do that the Sith are not quite as dead as we thought, Skywalker,” the Grandmaster drawled, and Anakin felt his stomach drop. Of course Maul was still alive, but he no longer considered himself a Sith, and wasn’t exactly a threat to the Republic or the Jedi anymore.

“Do you know of any access that Sidious may have had to the Temple that we were not aware of?,” Mace interjected.

 _What?_ They thought he helped Sidious gain entry into the Temple without their knowing? _He didn’t even know why he was here._

Mace must have felt Anakin’s shock through the Force because he promptly relaxed his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.

“No Master, of course not,” Anakin asserted, perhaps a little quickly. “I was just as in the dark as the rest of you.”

“But do you think he could have been capable of doing so?,” Ki-Adi inquired.

Anakin faltered. “I —”

“Masters.” Leave it to Obi-Wan to rescue him. “Anakin was no more privy to Sidious’s actions than we were. I don’t believe this questioning is completely fair, nor beneficial to us.”

Anakin noticed Luminara exchange a glance with Shaak Ti. Mace leaned back in his seat while Yoda frowned. “Fear I do that we cannot solve this mystery without you, Skywalker,” he admitted. “Remnants of the Sith we may have uncovered; your help, we will need to destroy them.”

Anakin didn’t know how to answer. The eyes of the Council seemed to weigh on him. He suddenly felt like he was nine years old, on Coruscant for the first time, and missing his mother.

“We believe that our predecessors may have hidden away an ancient Sith instrument beneath the Temple to keep it safe and out of the hands of powerful force users,” Mace informed him, crossing his hands.

Anakin’s head spun. “What does that have to do with Sidious?” His gaze darted back to Obi-Wan.

“Madame Jocasta recently decoded an ancient record documenting Sith technology and artifacts that were recovered after Jedi traveled to the ruins of their civilization on Korriban thousands of years ago,” Plo apprised. “The text detailing one of the objects and its location have been erased, and that led us to believe that it must have been hidden here. We understand that each of the objects require a large amount of power to be activated. We believe that Sidious must have been aware of the device and its capabilities, and at the moment of his death, poured the remainder of his energy into activating it as some kind of fail safe.”

Anakin allowed the information to sink in.

“A Jedi, you no longer are,” Yoda shook his head, “but to face this without you, great danger I fear it may present.”

The other Council members stared at him expectantly.

Anakin looked around him at the faces of the Jedi gathered. His stare once again fell on Obi-Wan, searching his expression to find the right thing to say.

He turned back to Yoda a moment later. Anakin was reluctant to step back onto the path of the Jedi, but it was then that he thought of his family. If he didn’t face this labor now, it could mean their undoing later. That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

“I will do whatever I can to help you,” he said simply. _I just hope I don’t regret it later._

* * *

Anakin was led by Cin Drallig, Obi-Wan, Yoda, Luminara, and Shaak Ti down into one of the uncovered entrances to the tunnels, just below the Jedi Archives.

“We’ve mapped out where some of the underpasses meet and end,” Cin explained, raising his saber above his head to provide light. “They all lead to a chamber that contains a sealed door, which we’re sure the artifact is behind.”

As they made their way deeper into the labyrinth Obi-Wan brushed Anakin’s shoulder to get his attention. “I thought you might need this,” he murmured, and deposited Anakin’s lightsaber into his hand.

Surprise seized Anakin for a split-second as he allowed the saber to settle in his grip, finding that it rested there comfortably — he had built it himself after all.

_This weapon is your life._

He examined it for a moment, turning it over in his hands, aware that a nostalgic smile was spreading over his face. “I cleaned it every other day and made sure to turn it on every so often just to make sure it was still functioning,” Obi-Wan explained. “I probably kept it in better shape than you would have,” he smirked.

Anakin sighed, “Obi-Wan,” he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

His former master nodded. “I thought there might come a day when you’d need it again,” he confessed, a wistful smile on his face.

Anakin clipped the lightsaber to his belt and raised his head to see that they had reached the chamber. The doorway Cin described was an archway composed of several rectangular columns that blocked entry to the other side. There were symbols inscribed on each column that also decorated the head of the arch, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. Anakin could feel the darkness seeping from behind the door. He could tell the other Jedi felt it too. The air was heavy, not helped by the dust, and the Force seemed to curl around each of them unnaturally, twisting ever so slightly.

Anakin stepped forward to press his palm against the door. “You haven’t tried cutting through?,” he asked.

Cin shook his head. “It’s composed of beskar, cortosis, and other highly resistant materials. A lightsaber can’t touch it.”

“We’ve tried using the Force to raise and lower the columns, but they remained where they stood,” Luminara added. “The ancient Jedi were intent on keeping whatever is in there safe from the outside. Or vice versa, I suppose.”

“Maybe it’ll only accept a certain Force signature,” Anakin suggested, “Or maybe—” He was suddenly struck by an idea. “Gardulla,” he whispered to himself, looking between his companions. “When I —,” Anakin paused as he searched for the words. “Gardulla used to have a summer palace on Tatooine that was once a monastery. The monks who once lived there had an underground vault below what she had converted into her throne room. Whatever they kept there was a mystery, but Gardulla used it to house holodiaries that contained incriminating evidence of her criminal activity.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. “And?,” he inquired.

“And it was structured a lot like this door,” Anakin answered.

“Are you sure?”, Shaak Ti pressed, “This is a Jedi vault, not a Tatooinian crypt.”

Anakin’s eyes dropped to study the floor. “Gardulla only entrusted certain slaves to fetch and deliver the holodiaries for her; they couldn’t read so there was no danger of them being privy to the information on them.” he returned the master’s gaze. “My mother was one of them.”

Breaking the silence before it could start, Obi-Wan cut in. “So you have an idea as to how we’re to open this door?”

Anakin nodded. “I don’t think this mechanism was designed to respond to the Force. That’s the first thing you would think to try, and I doubt the Jedi who sealed this place wanted the solution to be obvious.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“These symbols,” Anakin trailed his hand over the inscriptions. “They must tell us something about how to seal and unseal the door. The vault at Gardulla’s palace was opened by a verbal cue. The monk’s engravings on the walls surrounding it detailed clues as to what the password was. These markings have to be a hint.”

Luminara crossed her arms. “They’re not just markings,” she said, a stern expression developing on her face.

“It’s the Sith language,” Obi-Wan finished. “A different dialect it seems than what was discovered in the record of the artifacts we decoded, but it is their alphabet, nevertheless.”

A Sith presence at the heart of the Jedi Temple. That certainly explained why they were so nervous, Anakin reasoned. He collected his thoughts for a moment. “Then you know what this all says?”, he gestured.

“Parts of it we haven’t been able to translate,” Obi-Wan admitted, “But the inscription on the head of the arch states something along the lines of, ‘Test the thread of the Force, and you shall be unraveled.’”

“What does _that_ mean?,” Anakin scowled.

“It’s a deterrent,” Obi-Wan answered matter-of-factly. Anakin ignored his sarcasm.

“We found that this here,” Luminara motioned to one of the columns, “states, ‘Power binds without serenity to see’, and this one, ‘Knowledge festers without passion to protect.’”

“What about this one here?”, Anakin pointed to the column between them. “‘The Force is all things and . . .’”, Obi-Wan replied.

“And what?”

“That’s it. It ends with ‘and.’”

Anakin frowned, mulling the words over in his head. _The Force is all things . . ._

A memory of his early days in the Temple rose to the surface of his thoughts. Obi-Wan was instructing him on mediation. _“Remember, Padawan,”_ he had said, _“A Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him. We are its children, its guardians, its students. It is as much a part of us, as we are of it.”_

Anakin heard himself gasp.

“And I am the Force.”

A great creaking sound filled the chamber as the columns began to sink into the earth.

* * *


	5. Escape

As soon as the door had opened, Anakin could feel the perverted aura bleeding into the chamber, winding about the Jedi and whispering in their ears.

He struggled to repress a shudder as an image of Palpatine breached his thoughts.

Obi-Wan came to stand beside him. “How did you know that was the password?,” he questioned.

Anakin smiled. “I just remembered your teachings, Master,” he cryptically replied, trying to shake off the darkness curling around him, instead focusing on his memories of he and Obi-Wan in their younger days.

Unsure of what to do next, the Jedi gathered at the foot of the archway, peering into the dark. An unnerving silence settled upon them.

“So who wants to go in first?,” Obi-Wan quipped.

Anakin pulled his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it, chasing the shadows to the far corners of what the light, combined with the glow of Cin’s saber, had revealed to be little more than a compact vault. Unlike the door that sealed it, it boasted no engraved scripture nor any real architectural design. A single dias sat in the center, and upon that, stood a stone pedestal.

The Jedi filtered inside, cautiously treading around the dias. As Anakin neared it, he was able to make out a minuscule object seated on the pedestal. It was spherical in shape, gold, and encompassed by two rings. A nova crystal was embedded in the center of the sphere, surrounded by characters etched into the surface. The object was beautiful, but a corruptive and evil pulse emanated from it, and Anakin felt himself flinch as he got closer.

Circled around the dias, the Jedi Masters glanced at one another. Shaak Ti narrowed her eyes. “I can feel the Dark Side is strong with this place, with this instrument,” she declared. “Should we destroy it?,” she asked Yoda.

“How we would accomplish such a task, I am not sure,” Yoda admitted. “I sense that this object may be too powerful for us to simply dispose of.”

“Not even the ancient Jedi who sealed it here knew how to destroy it,” Luminara mused, “Their only option was to hide it away. Now that it has been activated . . .”

Anakin barely caught her words. The atmosphere in the vault was starting to make him feel physically sick. At first he had paid no attention to it, but standing directly before the artifact, he realized that he wasn’t imagining the nausea.

Obi-Wan seemed to sense his friend’s discomfort. “Anakin, are you alright?,” he asked, laying a hand on his back. 

Anakin was about to reply that he was fine, but Yoda cut in before he could. “Highly sensitive Skywalker is to the Force, more than any of us or any Jedi before him,” Yoda affirmed, tapping his gimer stick against the floor, “That is the danger of this instrument. It will not allow us to destroy it until it has served its purpose. Corrupt us, it will, before the ghosts of the Sith see its design fulfilled.”

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy the other Jedi. “I think we should get Anakin out of here,” asserted Obi-Wan, “This place is having some kind of effect on him.” Anakin wanted to argue, that he wasn’t a child, that he could take care of himself, but now he was sure he could feel his vigor slipping away, and he wasn’t inclined to start squabbling with his former master.

“What are we to do with the artifact then?,” Cin inquired, his face drawn in a frown.

Suddenly a tremor shook the vault, and Anakin, with alarm, noticed the columns rise from the floor by a fraction. “We’re going to be trapped here if we don’t make a decision!,” he grunted, finding that he struggled to get the words out. His throat felt dry and he realized he was trembling.

Obi-Wan put another arm around him. “Anakin?,” the concern in his voice was evident.

The columns rose again.

“Master Yoda,” Luminara’s voice was hard, “What must we do? I doubt that we will be able to get back in again if we are sealed out now, but I fear the consequences of allowing this object to remain here.”

“I’ll take it,” Anakin rasped, to everyone’s surprise. “If any of you touch it, it’ll manipulate you, corrupt you.” Obi-Wan’s face quickly donned a mask of horror. “It was my destiny to destroy the Sith, let me finish the job.”

“Anakin, be rational, you can barely stand!,” Obi-Wan reprimanded, though his tone was unsettled.

There was a terrible grating sound as the columns began to rise without stopping.

“Go!,” Anakin barked, wrestling out of Obi-Wan’s grip.

“Anakin!”

He ignored his old master’s plea as he rushed to seize the artifact, despite his sudden frailty. Reaching out, his fingers inches away from its surface, Anakin felt time begin to slow. He felt as if his head were being pulled underwater, and the voices of his fellow Jedi became muffled.

The water filled his lungs, but he was so close to grabbing it now. His surroundings blurred and he became aware of a pounding in his head.

Anakin barely felt the brush of his fingers against the artifact as he suddenly and sickenly, one moment too late, heard laughter ringing in his ears.

Palpatine.

* * *

Blackness was the last thing Anakin remembered as he opened his eyes with immense difficulty. His headache still hadn’t left him, and his vision was shifting in and out of focus. His body felt like an anchor, weighing him down to the floor.

As he endeavored to collect himself and deliver air to his lungs, Anakin became conscious that the Force felt . . . off.

It was quieter, but unnervingly so. Like it was empty.

The cascade of life and energy was still, almost sterile. As his senses drifted back to him, Anakin inclined his head to identify his surroundings. He was still in the Jedi Temple, but now he seemed to be in the middle of one of its grand corridors, the light of the sunset streaming through the massive windows. With great effort he sat up, and forced himself to his feet, his head spinning as he did so.

“How did I get here?,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temple. Taking another deep breath he recalled the artifact, the closing door, and Obi-Wan’s cry. His brow furrowed. He reached out for his former master.

But there was nothing.

Obi-Wan wasn’t in the Temple. Not only that — he wasn’t on the planet.

Confusion swamped his mind as Anakin stumbled with the realization that the Temple was not as he left it. _What is going on?_

Returning his attention to his surroundings, he noticed that the building didn’t seem quite right either. Still feeling faint, he noted absently that the walls’ gentle shades of fawn and commanding bronze were instead an austere and cold white, pristine, unfeeling. Blinking against the gleaming reflection of the setting sun against the corridor walls, Anakin recognized that the architectural staples of the hall appeared to be missing as well, and a series of tapestries now hung in between each of the columns, bearing an unfamiliar insignia. Squinting, he realized the crest had some resemblance to that of the Republic’s.

The implication of the foreign emblem, strung up around a seemingly deserted Temple, abruptly struck Anakin like a bolt of lightning. He was suddenly feeling much more awake now, though the sickly feeling plaguing him only seemed to gnaw at him more intensely.

Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Anakin remembered his last moments beneath the Temple, and the echo of laughter from a man he had long thought dead. At his hand.

_Where am I?_

With burgeoning dread Anakin visualized the Sith artifact, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of marching. Steps, firmly and strictly in pace with one another, were rounding about the corner, accompanied by disembodied voices that trailed just behind the mob of Force presences Anakin only now felt himself become aware of. He was sure if it wasn’t for all of his experiences during the war that he might have allowed the panic and lightheadedness he was feeling to overcome him right then and there. Clearing his mind, he reminded himself that even though it seemed foreign externally, he was acutely familiar with the Temple’s interior. He had spent the better half of ten years finding ways to sneak out of it.

As soon as the owners of the approaching footsteps arrived in the hall, Anakin was darting down the adjacent corridor. The turbolift would be an easy way out, it was right at the end of his path, but he feared the possibility of inadvertently coming face to face with the people he was trying to escape. He instead decided on utilizing the massive vents that ran through the upper levels to make his way outside. As he ran through the hall, the sheer emptiness of the Temple intensified Anakin’s unease, and recognizing the presence of soldiers there made him run faster.

Dashing around another corridor his cloak swirled around him like a streamer, and he realized that if he was seen, his identity could be a liability. Anakin promptly pulled his hood down as insurance.

An unsteadiness still shadowed him, but he ignored it, knowing that if he could just get to the halls below the Situation Rooms he would be able to find his way to the vent system. Closing in on his objective, Anakin increased his pace, becoming progressively aware of the dark aura that was festering within the foundations of the building. Instinctively, he reached out again, searching for any Force sensitive signatures. In the moment Anakin extended himself to probe his surroundings, he rounded the final column of the corridor — running straight into the path of a squad of troops. Accompanying the platoon were two other men, both wearing what Anakin recognized as the official uniform for non-clone Republic military officers. Before anyone could say a word, Anakin caught that the armor the troopers wore was not a design he could identify, but he did recognize one of the stupefied officers standing before him.

“Tarkin?,” he asked before he could stop himself.

Anakin could feel the man’s confusion and displeasure radiating off of him through the Force, though he could have easily read him without it by the expression Tarkin was wearing. Warily though, Anakin realized that the captain didn’t recognize him.

Before Tarkin could respond, one of the troopers stepped forward and raised his blaster. “Who are you?,” he barked, and Anakin registered that he wasn’t a clone. “Explain yourself! What business do you have in the Imperial Palace?”

“Imperial Palace?,” Anakin echoed, his mind going numb.

He failed to notice Tarkin pressing a button on his communicator.

Without thinking he replied, “You mean the Jedi Temple?”

As soon as the word ‘Jedi’ left his lips Anakin both sensed and saw the alarm that passed over the assembly. The lead trooper motioned with his blaster. “Alright, you’re coming with us.” Anakin blinked. He shot a look behind the unit of troops to the windows at the far end of the hall.

“Um. No, I’m not,” he returned matter-of-factly, before sending the trooper flying with a kick to the chest. Anakin leaped into the air and immediately ignited his lightsaber, almost reveling in the rush of vigor he felt. He wasn’t prepared for the response that _that_ incited.

“ _Jedi!,_ ” he heard the officer beside Tarkin yelp, and the other troops scrambled to give chase. Racing towards the window, which seemed to be his only option for escape now, Anakin extended his arm in preparation to slice through the thick layer of transparisteel when a second company of soldiers charged into his path from another hallway.

“Oh great,” he huffed, skidding to a halt. The troopers behind joined their comrades to surround him and Anakin could hear the faint clicking of their blasters as the weapons were unlocked.

“This is Governor Tarkin. Palace Security, we have a surviving Jedi, I repeat, _a Jedi_ , on the perimeter. We are at sub-spire level, third corridor.”

Anakin spied Tarkin out of the corner of his eye. He was now approaching the circle of soldiers, the concern and perturbation on his face quickly being replaced by a smug expression.

“You must have been clever to have survived this long,” the man sneered. Anakin realized dumbly and with increasing dread why he was unable to find any Force sensitive presences. Tarkin’s lip curled. “But to return here was truly a dull-witted choice.” Little did the man know that Anakin was using his time to gloat to form one of his last-minute escape plans that Obi-Wan almost always seemed to find time to nitpick, even with blaster fire raining down on their heads.

“Wanna see something cool?,” Anakin asked, concentrating on the weights and positions of the men surrounding him.

A look of contempt and detest overtook Tarkin’s face, but before he could say anything else Anakin unleashed the Force in an explosive push that violently scattered the ring around him. Troops were slammed against the surrounding walls and up into the air, and Tarkin himself was thrown into the other officer, spluttering in fury and embarrassment.

“Governor,” Anakin acknowledged him with a salute before returning to his escape. Unbeknownst to him, Tarkin, still on the ground, managed to pull a small blaster pistol from his belt. His arms were shaking, but as he aimed, they steadied.

“Jedi _scum_ ,” he spat. He fired.

Anakin sensed the blaster bolt hurtling towards him, but still weighed by his unsteadiness and now exhausted by the massive Force push, he was unable to dodge.

The bolt more than grazed his abdomen, burning his clothes and skin, and he cried out in pain. Clutching the wound, he forced himself to keep running. The troopers were getting back on their feet now, and a few were shooting in his direction. With the last shred of energy he had left, now driven by desperation, Anakin launched himself into the window, shattering it with the Force and plummeting towards Coruscant’s streets. Feeling his consciousness begin to leave him, Anakin noticed an air speeder moving in near his position. Using what focus he had left, he grabbed the speeder with the Force, hurling it beneath him. Absently, he noticed the driver’s surprise as the vehicle whirled against his control. He didn’t have long to ponder it though, dropping onto the backseat with a sickening thud as blackness once again overtook him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who are reading this story, I’m having a lot of fun writing it. From this point on I’m going to try to update weekly. Thank you again for your kudos and comments, I appreciate it a lot.


	6. Two Senators and a Jedi

Bail Organa had aged ten years in the past five. His occupation had been the least of his stressors during that time, between civil war and a crumbling democracy. A democracy, Bail realized too late, had already been failing its people for years before its unceremoniously quiet death.

The government that had risen from the Galactic Republic’s ashes had established itself quickly and ruthlessly, and before Bail could even blink, the war was over and the Jedi were dead. Seeing the once holy Temple of the Order converted into a glorified stately home had sickened him the first time he saw the renovations, but now it only filled him with a bitter melancholy. The Jedi Knights were a vital organ of the Old Republic, preservers of peace and justice. Though they had seemed to lose their way in the twilight years of the war and subsequently the Republic, Bail still mourned their loss. The galaxy had been told a different story of the Jedi to what he had experienced, and he vowed to keep their memory alive by remembering their nobility and sacrifice.

The once great Temple wasn’t only good for remembrance, however.

Bail, as well as many of his close colleagues, had found that his trust in the former Supreme Chancellor was waning by the end of the first year of war. No matter how Palpatine had tried to frame it, Bail believed the man was all too eager to raise an army. The coincidental removal of one of his closest allies, and one of the most outspoken opposers of the Military Creation Act, from Coruscant at the time of its passage was too suspicious for Bail to ignore. He had been there, with Palpatine on that balcony, overseeing the initial deployment of hundreds of thousands of clone troopers who had then made up the Grand Army of the Republic. Those men were born for battle, and Palpatine had delivered them to their deaths.

When the Temple first began to undergo construction after the war was over and all of the bodies from the sacking had been disposed of, Bail worked with an inside agent to establish a way to monitor open communications inside. He had already been in the district in his speeder when he heard the call claiming that a Jedi had infiltrated the Emperor’s palace.

Immediately switching gears, Bail sped back towards the source of the signal. He wasn’t sure what he’d do once he got there, he’d come up with some excuse to get inside he thought; it was solely the prospect of a surviving Jedi that drove him forward. There were a scarce few of them left in the galaxy, and Bail wasn’t about to let one of them slip through his fingers.

Flying over the gardens Bail attempted to slip under the notice of the sleek Imperial ships that orbited the Palace, acting as watchdogs against possible intrusion of the Emperor’s residence. Evidently as he passed beneath them they were about as effective as stormtroopers were good shots.

Trailing along the massive walls, Bail floated upwards to approach one of the hangar bays to make his clandestine entrance. He knew exactly which one would be vacant. In the third and penultimate year of the war, a Jedi padawan had been discovered to have been spearheading a string of domestic terrorist attacks after one of the Temple hangars was bombed. She was promptly executed, but not before a second bomb destroyed what was left of the hallways surrounding the decimated hangar. Bail should have taken that event as a warning at the time. That things were much worse than any of them could have fathomed.

Since then, the remnants of the hangar bay were mostly abandoned. A reconstruction project was initiated when Palpatine claimed the Temple, but it seemed that most of the credits had been devoted to redecoration over the building’s structural integrity.

Sighing, Bail zeroed in on the abandoned hangar entrance when he suddenly lost control of the speeder. It seemed to have a mind of its own as it spun backwards in a frenzy, despite Bail’s attempts to gain control of the steering, feeling himself being flung against his seat in the blur. Nearly crashing into the Temple wall, the speeder abruptly ceased its acrobatics before a body crashed into it from twenty feet above.

Bail, barely recovering from his sudden trip, gawked.

_The Jedi._

Hundreds of shards of broken transparisteel rained down as well on the man now bleeding in his backseat. Quickly putting the pieces together and breaking from his trance of astonishment, Bail immediately sped from the scene, the ragged breathing of the Jedi spurring him on.

 _Hold on_ , Bail pleaded with the unconscious man, willing the speeder to fly faster. _You might be our last hope._

* * *

Bail knew it would be impossible for him to drag a profusely bleeding Jedi back to his senatorial residence and not expect the authorities to knock down his door. He had very few options from which to choose, and regardless which one he elected, Bail knew it was only a matter of time until he would probably face arrest. He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that he had gotten away from the scene unscathed, but for now it didn’t seem that he had been followed, so he supposed he had just enough time to spare. Barely.

What he was most certain of was that the Jedi needed to get off planet. Even more so than medical attention. If he stayed on Coruscant he was as good as dead anyway.

Bail knew that he could count on one of his oldest colleagues to save his skin. Mon Mothma was the only friend of his still active in the Imperial Senate who was currently on the planet, and she was departing to go offworld today. It would appear incredibly suspicious if Bail left the capital hours after being seen at the Imperial Palace at the same time a Jedi Knight escaped from there. If he could transport the Jedi to Mon’s ship and she was able to smuggle him off Coruscant, no one would bat an eye. Officially, Mon was leaving for her homeworld of Chandrila, but unofficially he knew she was going to Dantooine, the current center of their burgeoning alliance against the Empire. Getting the Jedi there would allow him to meet with their leaders and get in contact with other survivors of Order 66.

“Mon?,” Bail held his comm close to his face.

“Bail. What —”

“You’re departing Imperial Center directly from your apartment, correct?” He couldn’t afford to waste time.

“Of course,” she stated, curt. They preferred to keep their conversations via comm units as brief and laconic as possible. They never knew who was listening. “I’m on my way right now.”

Bail knew Mon would get the message. Her “apartment” in reality was Senator Onaconda Farr’s old senatorial residence. He had been murdered before the end of the war, but the remaining members of what was left of of the Delegation of 2000 had come to use the space as a clandestine meeting place. Mon had mentioned before that she’d be there prior to her departure to collect drives she’d hidden containing valuable information regarding a new weapons program the Emperor had recently greenlit.

Bail arrived there first, pulling into the small docking bay perhaps a bit too fast, rushing to drag the still unconscious Jedi out of the speeder. It was then he noticed just how _young_ he was, and with immense alarm a moment later, the blaster wound in his side. As he hauled him into the apartment the Jedi groaned in pain, and Bail could see where the man had impaled himself on transparisteel when he must have jumped through the window to escape. Blood was still spurting from a spot just above the quarterized blaster wound. Bail removed his robe and pressed it against the gash, applying pressure to the area to curb the bleeding. After finding success, Bail decided the man couldn’t just sit on the floor, and he heaved him onto a couch.

Exhausted, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and in turning around spotted the Jedi’s lightsaber on the ground before him. He bent to pick it up, marveling at its refined and simplistic design, knowing intimately the amount of destruction it was capable of.

_“It’s certainly a more elegant weapon than your blaster . . .”_

A memory of Obi-Wan infiltrated his thoughts, and Bail suddenly felt incredibly old. The war, for all of his hatred of it, had brought he and his old friend together. He sighed. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia.

He rested the weapon on the couch next to its owner, who was looking worse and worse by the second. He was quite pale, and his face was contorted into an expression of pain. Bail grimaced. “You must hold on, my friend,” he croaked. “Help is coming.”

As if she was waiting for the cue, Bail heard the engine of Mon’s ship outside, and hurried out to meet her. Once she caught sight of him, Mon matched his pace to reach him. “Bail —,” she started, cutting herself off when she noticed the blood on his hands. He followed her gaze.

“Ah,” he said lamely, not quite knowing how to continue. Mon didn’t offer a response.

Bail narrowed his eyes before finding the words. “Quickly. Follow me.” He could sense her trepidation, but he knew she trusted him, and she obliged his request. Leading his friend to the parlor, Bail stopped short of the couch and turned to face Mon, wordlessly allowing his gaze to drift to the young man laying there. Mon’s reaction was subdued, but he knew the slight shift of her eyebrows meant that she had been caught off guard.

She stared. “Is that —”

“Yes.”

Mon raised a hand to her forehead. “Where did he —”

“I don’t have time to explain right now. You have to take him to Dantooine.”

Mon tore her gaze from the couch and turned to her colleague. Without hesitation she asked, “Can you help me get him onto the ship?”

When Mon’s aides saw her and Senator Organa hoisting a half-dead looking man onto the ship, relentlessly dripping blood on the stainless white floor, they were more than a little bewildered.

“Help us get him to the medical bay!,” Mon commanded, shocking the crew out of their stupor.

One of the attachés, a young Theelin woman, quickly joined Bail in supporting the Jedi’s head and shoulders as another aide fetched a medical droid. As they struggled to move him the Jedi let out a strangled sounding cry, momentarily startling the Theelin and the rest of the crew. “Careful,” Bail advised, “he might still have a shred of transparisteel stuck in him.”

Depositing the man onto the bed in the ship’s medical bay Bail pressed a hand over his forehead. “He’s burning up,” he observed, fear starting to settle in that the Jedi wouldn’t make it. At that moment the medical droid entered, approaching the bed to examine its patient.

Interrupting his thoughts, Mon put her hand on Bail’s shoulder. “You need to go. Now.”

Bail spared one more glance at the Jedi. “Let me know when you reach Dantooine,” he said. He had done all he could for now.

Mon nodded in affirmation, releasing her grip on his shoulder. “I’ll make sure he gets there,” she promised.

Bail could only offer her a tired smile. “Thank you. May the Force be with you.” 

* * *

Once escaping Coruscant’s orbit, Mon had spent the next hour or so observing the medical droid perform its work. She still could scarcely believe there was a Jedi sitting in front of her. He was a relic of a discarded age, she thought regrettably, despite his youth.

Bacta spray had been applied to both of his wounds once they had been cleaned, and the droid was monitoring his breathing and fever now. Some color had returned to his skin, but he still looked worse for wear. Mon wasn’t sure whether the scar cutting through his face was new or old. 

She wondered how he had gotten to Coruscant in the first place. What was his mission? She could only guess, turning her gaze to the window as they passed through hyperspace.

“When do you think his consciousness will return?,” she asked the medical droid.

“I predict the patient will likely awaken between three to five hours from now. His breathing is returning to normal, as is his temperature, but he is still in a state of extreme exhaustion.”

Mon sighed. “Thank you”, she replied, knowing the acknowledgment didn’t really mean much to the droid, who of course didn’t answer. She stood and exited the medical bay, taking notice of the blood that had stained her sleeves. Recalling the funeral for all the Jedi killed in the Temple Hangar bombing three years before, Mon started miserably at the crimson blemishes on her hands.

“My lady?,” a small voice interrupted her moping. Her aide had just entered the hallway. “Captain Tonra has notified me that we’ve received a transmission from an unidentified channel.”

 _That’ll be Ackbar,_ she realized.

“Thank you, Ienal,” Mon said, and the Theelin bowed back. “I’ll receive it on the bridge.”

Reaching the head of the starship a few minutes later, Mon strode past the navigation team and pilots to stand beside Tonra. She felt the eyes of her crew fall upon her, no doubt news of the Jedi had reached them by now. “Senator,” he began, “would you like to receive the transmission?”

Mon nodded. “Put it through, Captain.”

The image of Admiral Ackbar and former Senator Meena Tills appeared over the console, blurring in and out of focus on the holo projector. “Admiral. Senator,” she greeted. Despite the loss of her position in the Senate since the siege of Mon Cala, Mon knew her colleague had been dismissed as part of a ploy to delegitimize the Mon Calamari people, and Tills had been no less of a driven leader since then.

“Senator Mothma,” the admiral bowed his head, “We are just confirming that you have departed Coruscant and are on your way to base.” Mon realized that in the excitement of the discovery of a Jedi, she had completely forgotten to contact the alliance.

“My apologies, Admiral,” she faltered, wondering how to phrase her response. “We ran into something quite . . . unexpected, before we left the planet’s surface.” Mon was sure that the silence that now permeated the bridge was not there a moment ago.

“Unexpected, Senator?,” Ackbar leaned forward. Mon exhaled.

“A Jedi.”

The admiral reacted immediately, straightening up and glancing at Tills before returning his attention to her. Mon continued. “Senator Organa found him. He had been shot and was bleeding badly when we got him onto _The Andrasha_. He’s recovering now in our medical bay.”

Ackbar seemed at a loss for words. “Are you sure he’s a Jedi?,” Tills questioned.

“He had a lightsaber on his person,” Mon answered simply. “Besides, with the injuries he sustained, it would be hard to believe he _wasn’t_ a Jedi, given that he’s still alive.”

The admiral seemed lost in thought. Mon waited patiently for his response. “When you arrive we’ll be able to reunite him with some of his brothers and sisters. The remaining Jedi have been our most crucial allies in this fight,” he looked knowingly at her. “Keep us updated on your status. And his.”

“Yes, Admiral,” she said firmly. Ackbar bowed. “May the Force be with you.”

The transmission cut off.

* * *

Anakin didn’t think he had ever felt worse. Physically, that is.

For the second time that day he found himself struggling to open his eyes. He was both freezing and burning up at the same time, and he was numb all over. He felt like a stone at the bottom of a lake, trapped in the dark by his own weight.

For the first time he could feel his cybernetics respond faster to his will than his flesh hand. He breathed, feeling his heart shuddering as he did so, and remembered what had happened before he blacked out. Images of the soldiers, Tarkin, and the warped Jedi temple flashed behind his eyes and alarm seized him. Had he been captured? No, he had jumped through the window, but he couldn’t recall anything after that.

“Your heart rate is unusually high.” A mechanical voice startled him, and he inclined his head to see a medical droid standing a few feet away from his bed. “I would recommend measured breathing. Would you like me to lead you in some breathing exercises?”

Behind the droid his lightsaber was sitting on a transparisteel table alongside a bloody cloth and his robe. If his lightsaber had just been left there, Anakin guessed he must be among safe company, especially if he was being tended to on an operating table.

“Sir?,” the medical droid cut into his thoughts.

“Oh,” he said, rising with difficulty before leaning his arms back and supporting himself on his elbows. “No thank y—,” he grimaced as he felt a sharp pain in his side.

_Right. Tarkin._

“I will notify the Senator that you are awake,” the droid informed him.

“Senator?,” he sat up. “Wait — Padmé?”

“Senator Mon Mothma,” the droid replied, monotone.

Anakin frowned. “You mean _Chancellor_ Mon Mothma.”

“No. I do not.”

Anakin suddenly felt nausea sweeping over him. The Temple. The emptiness in the Force. This was all wrong. Panic crept into his mind. “Where’s Padmé?,” he heard his voice break.

The droid didn’t move. “I am not familiar with whom you are referring to. I am merely a medical droid on Senator Mothma’s starship. My memory banks are wiped regularly.”

Anakin pushed himself up, staggering over the edge of the bed. “Your heart rate is increasing again. I would recommend measured breathing. Would you like me to lead you in some breathing exercises?”

“I have to get out of here,” Anakin gasped as another pain wracked his body and his stomach threatened to expel its contents.

“I would recommend—” Anakin tuned him out, hastily slipping on his cloak and grabbing his lightsaber. He held himself against the wall for a moment, fighting the fatigue that urged him to allow his knees to buckle so sleep could reclaim him. Sweat ran down his face and he clutched the blaster bolt wound. Anakin forced himself to continue out the door.

Clambering out of the medical bay, he glanced at his surroundings. Before he could decide where he was going, he heard the automatic doors behind him open and a Theelin woman walked out. Driven by instinct he immediately ignited his saber, and frightened, the woman seized the small blaster hanging at her hip. Recognizing she wasn’t a danger to him, Anakin was about to sheath his weapon when a voice cried out behind him.

“ _No!_ ”

Swaying, Anakin pivoted to see Mon Mothma, her hands outstretched, alarm apparent on her face. Two guards flanked her, ready to deploy their weapons at her command. Anakin lurched, deactivating his lightsaber.

“Chancellor?,” he croaked, struggling to maintain his balance. The senator’s expression shifted instantly.

“Master Jedi, are you alright?” But Anakin was already slipping away again. Before he could collapse, Mon was able to grab hold of him, and gingerly lowered him to the floor with the help of her guards. “Master Jedi!”

Anakin groaned, trying to fight the exhaustion. “Where . . . where is Padmé?” Mon’s eyebrows shot up to the center of her forehead.

“Master Jedi, do you know where you are?”

A cough wracked Anakin’s body, but he tried to speak through it. “Where are the Jedi?,” he winced, “Where is Obi-Wan?” Mon was beginning to suspect that the young man’s escape from the Imperial Palace had had some traumatic effect on his mind.

_He doesn’t know what happened?_

The coughing worsened as his body shuddered, and tears pricked the corners of Anakin’s eyes. “Where are my children?”

Mon’s eyes widened. “I —” But he was no longer conscious, laying limp in her arms.

* * *

Mon was adamant that she was going to be there when the Jedi woke up this time. He seemed to be caught in a delirious state when he wandered out of the medical bay and pulled a lightsaber on her aide. She couldn’t imagine what he had been through since his escape and before that, Order 66, but she was sure that if someone was there to explain the situation to him when he awoke, it would be a reminder that he was in safe hands, and he would be civil.

After the Jedi was returned to his bed he had slept for about another fourteen hours, and by then they were only about a day and a half’s worth of travel from Dantooine. Mon, against her better judgement, didn’t inform Ackbar of what had transpired, instead choosing not to raise alarm about a hysterical Jedi loose on her ship.

It was what would have been morning back on Coruscant when the Jedi finally woke. This time, he seemed much more subdued. He looked terrible, but Mon supposed now he at least knew where he was, and that was of some comfort. Whatever that was worth.

He lay still on the bed. Without turning to face her, without even opening his eyes, she knew that he was aware of her there. “Chancellor Mothma,” he murmured. She didn’t attempt to correct him. He stirred, but just barely. “Yesterday morning I woke up on Coruscant. There were ten thousand Jedi on the planet, the Temple was as it has been for the past thousand years. And you were the Chancellor of the Republic.”

Mon wasn’t sure how to answer, she was about to search for one, but it seemed he wasn’t finished.

“You made a fuss to Padmé and Senator Organa that you were dropping the ‘Supreme’ from the title before you took office,” he said, some faint amusement gracing his features before disappearing. His first name basis with Padmé piqued her curiosity, but still she remained silent.

“That’s not all though,” his face hardened, and Mon imagined the scar over his eye curling in a dark expression. “That morning, Palpatine had been dead for three years. But here, now, he’s alive.” The senator held her breath. “I can feel him. He permeates Coruscant’s air and . . . he knows I’m here.” He finally turned to face her. “But I don’t know where _here_ is.”

Mon had been reluctant to report the Jedi’s previous episode in part because she feared he had lost his mind. But now, even hearing the claims he had made about the galaxy he came from, looking into his eyes, Mon was sure he was telling the truth. Or at least he believed what he was saying. She had always been disproving of the title ‘Supreme Chancellor’, but she never shared her opinion, especially not during the Clone War. It would have been . . . unpatriotic. Hearing it from someone else’s voice, it was — well Mon didn’t know what it was, but it certainly wasn’t unconvincing.

“This is the Galactic Empire,” she answered, “The Republic is dead. And so are the Jedi. Emperor Palpatine killed them.” A quiet horror washed over the young man’s face and he seemed to shrink, looking very small all of a sudden.

He looked like he could barely bring himself to ask. “What . . . what happened?”

“We had been at war for four years. The people of the Republic hated their generals more than the Confederates by that point in time. It was easy enough to turn the galaxy against them. The Jedi were discovered to have been ‘colluding’ with the Separatists. That was all it took to seal their fate. Palpatine had them all executed by their own soldiers.”

The Jedi didn’t move. His eyes looked glassy.

“The Separatist leaders were found and killed at the same time. It was then that Palpatine dubbed himself Emperor and the Republic became an Empire.” Mon felt hollow as the words left her lips.

“Padmé Amidala,” his voice broke her trance. “Is . . . is she —,” he sounded terrified. “Did she survive?”

Mon recalled the deaths of her fellow senators who had helped to form the Delegation of 2000. Many of them had died in the past two years since the Empire’s birth. Mon knew that those deaths were planned, politically motivated. Bail had confessed to her before that he was sure the assassination attempts on Padmé during the proposition of the Military Creation Act were part of a larger scheme. Then, she was skeptical, now, she felt like a fool for being so blind. But, just as it had been then, that hadn’t been enough to deter her friend, and it certainly wasn’t now.

“She’s alive”, Mon said, never more certain of her words than she was then. “She’s alive.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the most fun chapter to write so far! (Also the longest). I hope you’re all enjoying reading as much as I am writing. Let me know what you guys think by commenting! I’d love to hear all your feedback.


	7. Revelations

Mon left the Jedi to rest after questioning him further about the galaxy he supposedly came from. He had told her of what became of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and Count Dooku, as well as the Republic's restructuring over the course of what for him had been the last three years. He didn’t mention much besides that though. While she was curious to hear of her career as Chancellor, he had trailed off when they came to the topic of the Jedi Order, and she didn’t press him further.

Before exiting the medical bay Mon explained to him of the alliance against the Empire and informed him that they were on their way to Dantooine, their base of operations. “Once we arrive you’ll be able to meet with some survivors of the purge,” she promised.

He looked at her gratefully, but his eyes were empty.

“Thank you, Ch — Senator.”

Mon could only nod in return. She couldn’t bring herself to smile, she knew that he would sense it was false anyway.

It wasn’t until she reached her quarters to contact Ackbar that she realized she never asked the man his name. She supposed she would find out soon enough. Initiating the transmission, Mon sat patiently for the image of the admiral to appear before her. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Senator Mothma, I take it the Jedi is awake?," he didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Yes, Admiral. He’s in a much more stable condition now, I just spoke with him.” Mon decided to leave out the details of the previous incident. “I let him know that we are headed to Dantooine, and that fellow Jedi would be waiting for him there.”

“Excellent,” Ackbar puffed. “Did you discover how he came to be on Coruscant?”

Mon wasn’t sure how to translate what the Jedi had explained to her.

“I think it would be best for him to explain everything once we arrive,” she answered. “His situation is . . . complicated.”

Ackbar seemed satisfied enough with that. “Very well,” he grunted. “Keep me apprised if there are any new developments.”

“Yes, Admiral.” She shut off the holo projector.

Leaning back in her seat Mon considered the alternate world in which everything was right. She sighed.

_Where did we go wrong?_

She frowned, they were still a day away from Dantooine and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself now that the excitement had settled.

 _I suppose I’d better go ask the man his name_ , she resolved.

After making her way back to the mid-level of the ship Mon stepped into the medical bay to find the pieces of a lightsaber scattered in the air, hovering in place. Sitting on the floor was the Jedi, eyes closed, and hands on his knees as he held himself in a meditative position. Almost at once the pieces flew towards each other in tandem, orbiting an azure crystal that was floating just above the Jedi’s head. The pieces fell into place among one another, elegantly forming the hilt of the saber, which then drifted down into the man’s palm.

His eyes opened. “Senator Mothma," he looked up.

Mon was still recovering from her enchantment of the construction. She had met very few Jedi in her time, and admittedly was somewhat skeptical of their devout dedication to an “all-powerful Force,” but it seemed that she had underestimated the magical powers they were rumored to possess.

“Master Jedi,” she bowed swiftly, “I hope I haven’t interrupted you.”

He shook his head. “Not at all, Senator," he stood and clipped his saber to his belt. “What can I do for you?”

“Well," she began, “It seems that you are quite familiar with me, but I’m afraid that I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh.” He suddenly looked sheepish. It was only then that Mon realized how young he was.

“I’m sorry," he said. “Uh, Anakin Skywalker. At your service.”

Mon guessed by the expression on his face that he expected her to have some kind of reaction.

He seemed to have read her mind.

“You don't know who I am?” It was more of a statement than a question. “I thought it was just that you might not have recognized me," he faltered. “We didn’t see much of each other before the end of the war. But you don’t know my name.” His face was blank.

Should she? Mon raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

An awful expression crawled over his face.

“I must be dead.”

If Mon wasn’t lost before she certainly was now.

“I’m sorry?”

She noticed he had started to tremble. He was shaking his head back and forth.

“During the war, I ended up becoming”, he paused, “somewhat of a poster boy for the Republic. For the war effort.” Mon waited for him to continue. “It made my name and face pretty well known across the galaxy, but if you don’t know me, then I must not have lived to see the war. That or I died early on into the conflict.”

The story was outrageous, she knew, but that hadn’t stopped her belief in his words before. “Are you sure?”

 _“I_ killed Palpatine at the end of the Clone War. But here, he’s alive.” He exhaled, holding back a wince as his hand drifted to his abdomen. “If I died before then . . .” His gaze wandered to the ceiling. “Something happened to change the outcome of the war," he asserted, turning to her. “Otherwise Palpatine would be dead, the Jedi wouldn’t, and you would be Chancellor.”

She held his troubled stare for a moment, before he abruptly straightened.

“Wait a minute . . .”

His eyes narrowed, darting from Mon to the floor and then back to her again.

“What happened after Naboo defeated the Trade Federation droid army when they invaded? Is that when Palpatine became Chancellor?”

A thick silence descended upon them the moment Mon failed to answer right away. She searched his pleading face, the scar giving his expression an aura of something more than just distress. A deep anguish was threatening to snap him. She couldn’t read his mind the way she knew he could hers, but she was a politician. She knew how to decipher people. And she was sure that the knowledge that all he had known and cared about had turned to dust in the blink of an eye was weighing on him.

“The Trade Federation never had to deploy their army.” Mon struggled to look him in the eye, the pit welling deep in her stomach muffled her usually clear and confident words. “The Queen was able to get off Naboo with the aid of two Jedi, but they became stranded on Tatooine, a desert planet in the Outer Rim, after their ship’s hyperdrive was damaged in the escape.”

The lines on the Jedi’s face deepened. Mon noticed his fists clench.

She continued cautiously. “They were able to somehow get in contact with Coruscant, and an emergency Senate meeting was called to deal with the situation, but the majority of the Senate argued that it was a matter of taxation, not moral obligation. At that the Queen called for a Vote of No Confidence in Chancellor Valorum’s leadership. But eventually she was forced to sign Nute Gunray’s treaty, which was further proof of Valorum’s weakness.”

The Jedi wasn’t looking at her anymore. He had turned to look out the window, hyperspace passing him by.

“But . . . yes. Afterwards, Palpatine was voted in as Chancellor.”

The Jedi’s voice sounded hollow. “What happened to Naboo?” He hesitated. “What happened to the Queen?”

“Many people on Naboo lost their lives. Their liberty. Their planet was invaded and their Queen was lost. Since then many other small and less influential planets found themselves the subject of intimidation and bullying by the Trade Federation.” She sighed. “Many of those planets joined the Separatist movement barely ten years later.”

“And Padmé?” He sounded so tired now. But fear still tinged his voice. “The Jedi?”

“An assassin followed them to Tatooine.” His shoulders tensed. “It turned out that there were another pair of Jedi that had gone to the planet on a covert mission, another Knight and his apprentice. When the assassin struck they were able to intervene, saving the Queen, but not before one of the Jedi was slain.”

He slowly rotated to face her once more, the same trepidation written on his features.

“Did you know their name?”

“If I remember correctly, it was a Master Jinn.”

The Jedi’s shoulders immediately slumped and he sighed sorrowfully. His eyes returned to his feet.

Mon went out on a limb. “Did you know him?," she asked quietly.

He blinked languidly. “Once.” His voice cracked. “A long time ago.”

“I’m sorry”, she said, knowing too well that they were empty words.

“Don’t be”, he replied, monotone. “I guess some things can’t be changed.”

Mon desperately wished there was something else she could say, something that could ease his pain, send him back where he came from. But all she could do was finish her story. Do the simple thing he had requested of her.

“The other Jedi managed to help the remaining apprentice, Padmé, and her entourage get back to Naboo after bringing them to Coruscant, but by then the death toll was so great that she was left little choice as to her remaining course of action. Ever since then, she has tried to make amends for it all by serving in the Senate, and restoring the respect and sovereignty of her people. It was never about the restoration of her own image. And I don’t think Padmé has ever forgotten that it was her who put Palpatine in power. No one has led a career more righteous and sacrificial than her.”

Mon waited patiently for the Jedi to digest everything.

At long last he finally said, “That’s not the way I remember it.”

She could already guess where he was going. “Because of you?”

“I was there when they landed on Tatooine. It was my involvement that allowed them to restore the hyperdrive to get to Coruscant.” He exhaled. “That’s when I was discovered by the Jedi.”

He leaned against the bed for support before speaking again.

“There were hundreds of times I could have died before then, on Tatooine.”

The way he spoke the planet’s name was sharp, yet reserved, as if saying it out loud would cause him some kind of punishment or physical pain. Mon supposed it might, somewhere deep inside him.

His voice sounded dead now, unfeeling and despondent. “I could have been blown-up, caught in a slave riot, killed in a pod-race. The desert might have gotten me.”

The excruciating silence returned, heavy and unbearable.

“I’m sorry," he suddenly said, “I’m just so . . .”

He couldn’t find the words. Mon didn’t hold it against him. Neither could she.

“What happened to the Zabrak assassin?”

She hadn’t mentioned the assassin’s species, but with quiet realization she understood she didn’t have to. He had been there. She finally found herself accepting it. How could she not?

“He escaped," she answered curtly.

The Jedi didn’t respond. He only released another weary sigh. Mon considered him for a moment, sympathetic.

“We still have about a day until we reach Dantooine. In the meantime, I need to contact Senator Organa and let him know you’re alright. I was going to comm him once we arrived at the base, but—”

“Senator Organa?”

Mon realized with a start that they never discussed how he had arrived on her ship.

“Yes," she began, “he’s the one who rescued you from the Palace.”

“That was _his_ speeder I fell in?”

She nodded. “He called me immediately to get you safe and off the planet. I was quite surprised to find he had a Jedi Knight in his possession. But I need to get in contact with him and make sure he wasn’t arrested.”

“Arrested?," he echoed.

“His being in close vicinity of the Imperial Palace at the precise time of your escape has put him in extreme danger. I do not doubt that Imperial Center will be on lockdown with the stormtroopers trying to find you. It won’t take long for them to go after and interrogate him.”

“Imperial Center? Wait, what happened to the clone troopers?”

Mon held a hand to her chin. Perhaps she'd have to seek out some historical texts for him. Ones that weren’t propaganda.

“Coruscant is no longer Coruscant. Imperial Center is its name now. And the clones began to be phased out of the Grand Army barely a year after the Clone War ended. They make up less than half of the military now.”

“Well, where are they?”, he sounded impatient, but there was an undercurrent of genuine worry in his tone.

“A select few are instructors at Imperial Academies. Most of them were honorably discharged and were expected to adapt to civilian life after the war ended, though what used to be the Coruscant Guard is still serving. Quite a few have joined our rebellion.”

The Jedi straightened at that.

“They were born to fight for the Republic. That’s what they’re still doing.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment before she spoke again.

“I need to try to get in contact with Senator Organa," Mon said again, remembering her objective. “I will let you know his status as soon as I find out.”

She bowed and pivoted to exit the room. Before she could step out the doors, the Jedi spoke.

“Senator Mothma," he stepped forward. “Thank you. For telling me everything.”

Despite his thanks, Mon knew full well that he mourned his ignorance.

“Of course.”

* * *

Anakin slumped to the floor as soon as she was gone. He buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t wearing the glove that hid his prosthetic, and the cold and lifeless steel against his skin caused him to shiver.

Hearing that Qui-Gon was dead again had shook him more than he thought it could have. He wondered if in this world Obi-Wan had shared his master’s fate.

Immediately he pushed the thought away, holding back a sob. He knew if he allowed himself to breathe he would only start to cry. He remembered the artifact in the heart of the Temple.

_What have I done?_

Despite his efforts, Anakin began to weep.

He was dead, and more than anything he didn’t want to consider what that meant. The faces of Luke and Leia appeared in his mind’s eye.

_They don’t exist . . . They’re gone._

Anakin released a strangled cry, trying to muffle the noise as he pressed his head to his knees.

 _I said I’d be back in a few hours. I promised. I_ promised.

He felt as he did when Shmi’s life suddenly fizzled out in his arms. He wanted to die. He wondered, within this horrible dream, how his mother survived now that their fates were reversed and her son was the one buried deep under the sand.

His whole body shook as he choked down another sob. He wondered how far away Padmé was, where in the galaxy she could be, before realizing with cruel anguish that she wouldn’t know who he was. That they had never met. That they had never been there for one another against the savagery of the galaxy and their bloody shared history. That even if he was able to find her, she had lived a completely different life. One he had no memory of.

With an ache he wondered if there was someone else.

Tears continued to fall down his face, even though he willed them to stop.

He thought of Luke and Leia’s small hands in his, and flashes of their first and last meetings echoed in his mind.

 _I’m going to fix this_ , he determined. _I won’t let the galaxy fall._ _I won't let my children die._

He willed himself to stand and grasped his lightsaber from his belt.

_“This weapon is your life.”_

Anakin ignited the saber, the brilliant blue glow illuminating him and the tears that streaked his face. This was all that was left of the world he had come from besides himself. His last anchor.

 _Sidious_ , he gazed into the beam of light as if searching for something hidden within it, _I’m coming for you._

* * *

“How curious . . .”

Imperial Center was now alight with the glow of the planet-wide city. Flashes of neon blazed through the atmosphere at a continuous pace, far above the slums and darkness that dominated the underlevels below.

The air at this altitude was cold. The streets and buildings had extended so far over the centuries that the current base ground level, which was sure to be elevated again soon, now rested at the peak of the planet’s last great mountain. The ancient soil and earth of what had once been Coruscant had long been forgotten; the new resource to be coveted was sky, which the capital’s great structures had already cut into decades ago.

Once, the atmosphere of the Imperial Palace had matched its exterior. Cold, removed, and privileged. Situated on the planet’s highest level, soaking in the light of the sun, its inhabitants reveled in their holiness and ignorance. The Emperor had disposed of them in fire and blood.

The Jedi were a rotting shell of the ideals they had once stood for, weak and dependent on traditions that blinded them to change. Now, their temple was his castle, a fact that provided him comfort and humor.

But the reverie of his enemies’ demise was shattered by a violent tremor in the Force. A rip in the fabric of time that afflicted his soul and curled his blood. Something . . . _unnatural_.

The tremor was immediately followed by the sudden presence of what the Emperor surmised could only have been a Jedi, blindingly bright in the Force, burning with inherent power.

But this was a different intensity.

With the arrival of its presence Sidious saw a vast desert, a woman standing beneath its suns, and suddenly the image of an abandoned instrument of the Sith, long forgotten by its ancient engineers and the Jedi alike.

Staring out into the never ending traffic of the magnificent city, Sidious brought a hand to his chin, stroking it in contemplation.

Tarkin stood next to him, hands held diligently behind his back. He had reported the Jedi’s escape from the Palace, soon after launching into a speech of how he would personally track him down and deliver him to justice. Sidious had then silenced his zealous friend, assuring him that this was no time to be hasty.

He was already aware that the Jedi were not quite as dead as he would have liked, but this development could make them a greater threat to him once more. A sinister smile formed on his lips as he envisioned the potential of the being that had seemingly been dropped into his lap.

The lights of Imperial Center glinted in his eyes as Sidious’ gnarled hands folded against one another.

“I do believe we can turn this to our advantage.”

* * *


	8. Remnants of the Republic

Mon was overcome with a reassuring wave of relief as they came within sight of Dantooine. Ships were usually subject to search and seizures by Imperial patrol ships whenever traveling long distances, especially coming from the Core, and, in hindsight, Mon wasn’t sure how she would have hidden a Jedi. However, as _The Andrasha_ soared over the alliance base, Mon felt secure.

She hadn’t spoken with the Jedi since leaving the medical bay, and that had been about twelve standard hours ago. She hoped he was less of a mess. Though she was concerned for him, she didn’t want her lack of reporting on his initial awakening to come back to haunt her if he did something . . . irregular.

When she did return to the medical bay she was pleasantly surprised to find him composed. He seemed to have somewhat adapted to his new surroundings. Or he was just good at hiding his discomfort, though Mon was sure that in her absence he had developed some new resolve. Perhaps it was just that intuitiveness and spark that all Jedi were said to possess, their diplomatic and spiritual teachings easily guiding them through life’s chaos, but maybe it was something else. Mon was not an expert on Jedi. She didn’t know where fiction deviated from fact in terms of her limited knowledge of them, but when this one spoke of his involvement in galactic affairs and his friendship with her and Bail, she believed him implicitly. He seemed to think highly of her after all. To him, she was someone he could trust absolutely, even though, in her memory, this was their first encounter. That inspired some confidence in her.

She asked him to join her on the bridge, and he obliged, his robe trailing behind him as he followed her silently. Mon was not ignorant of the intrigued and openly mystified eyes that latched onto her companion as they walked. “I was not aware Jedi were so popular," she chimed, trying to produce some levity.

He tilted his head to glance at some of their observers. “We’re encouraged not to draw attention to ourselves," he replied, “Though I suppose we aren’t as common as we used to be.” Their conversation promptly ended after that.

Once at their destination, Mon led the Jedi to the center of the bridge, where they were able to look upon the planet’s surface through the ship’s massive windows. A squad of ARC-170 starfighters passed below them over the plains, headed by a lone X-Wing. A Hammerhead corvette rose into the air nearby from one of the converted docking bays, just as two Headhunter starfighters appeared to escort the senatorial ship down to the surface.

“Welcome to Dantooine, Master Skywalker,” Mon announced, lifting her head to measure his reaction. The alliance had transformed the ancient Jedi enclave on the planet into a military and intelligence base, utilizing the remoteness of the Outer Rim to hide their refuge.

He seemed fascinated, but clearly still reserved. “So this is all that’s left of the Republic,” he observed. A Cutlass patrol fighter swooped over the head of the ship, catching his attention.

“We have a few other bases located around the Outer and Mid Rims,” Mon apprised, “but this is our largest.”

 _The Andrasha_ came to hover over one of the docking bays, deploying its landing gear to touch down.

“Are you ready to meet your fellow Jedi, Master Skywalker?” Mon faced him. “I suspect Admiral Ackbar has informed those who are present of your arrival.”

His eyebrows raised at the mention of Ackbar, but he quickly reverted to a neutral expression. It looked like a practiced maneuver, like he was putting on a mask.

He smiled politely. “Yes, Senator. I hope that they’ll be able to help me . . . make sense of everything.”

She smiled back. “So do I.”

The ship landed gracefully, the engines whirring suddenly before quieting to a low hum. Mon made her way to the entry ramp with Skywalker, a few of her aides shadowing them. As soon as the ramp began to lower, she could see the party gathered to meet them, standing just outside one of the mouths of the enclave complex.

Both Admiral Ackbar and Senator Tills were there, among General Rieekan and General Dodonna. Three Jedi stood behind them.

Finally reaching the earth, Mon smiled as she strode towards her comrades. She bent her head respectfully as she came to stand before them. “Admiral, Generals, Master Jedi.” The Jedi gathered bowed back, while the generals, former senator, and Ackbar offered a curt nod. “May I introduce Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker," she motioned to her companion, who folded his hands under the sleeves of his cloak and bowed in return.

“It is a relief to see you here safe, Master Jedi,” Dodonna said, turning to face him, “Thanks to Senator Mothma and Senator Organa. We are heartened by your arrival.”

“I’m grateful for your hospitality. Thank you.” It was a very Jedi-like response, perfectly formal and brief. The epitome of politeness and civility. Anakin supposed Obi-Wan would have been proud. He wished he was here. Maybe he would be.

Dodonna and Rieekan stepped aside to allow the Jedi behind them to come forward. Anakin had already immediately recognized two of them, sensing their Force presences when the ship had initially descended. He was more excited than he would have thought, but he understood soberly that the recognition was not mutual. Aayla Secura approached him eagerly, a warm smile gracing her face. Jocasta Nu flanked her, similarly amiable. A male Dathomirian Zabrak, whom Anakin remembered seeing from time to time in the Temple, was right behind them.

“I’m afraid we haven’t crossed paths before now,” Aayla held out her hand in greeting, “but I am grateful the Force has brought us together.”

Anakin received her handshake and returned her smile. “So am I, Master Secura.”

“I’m sure your journey here has been difficult, especially alone," Jocasta spoke up. “We were quite thrilled to hear that you were coming. I’m sure you’re eager to once more be among fellow Jedi.

Anakin decided to try his luck. “Are there — any other Jedi here?”

“A few," began Aayla, “but the rest are off-planet at the moment. I’m afraid that even if they were here, our numbers would not be much more significant.” Anakin nodded, he could feel the still simmering pain that resonated in the air around them. There was no need to hide it now, to release it into the Force. The Jedi were all but extinct. Anakin shunned the image of Obi-Wan from his mind once more.

General Rieekan cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Senator Mothma, you can accompany us and present the information you collected on Coruscant while Master Skywalker meets with more of his brothers and sisters. Once the introductions have been concluded and we finish with our briefing, we will be able to question him.”

“An excellent idea, General," Jocasta agreed. She looked to the Zabrak Jedi. “Zubian, you and I will attend the briefing. Aayla, would you bring Skywalker to the enclave courtyard?”

Aayla nodded. “Of course, Madame Jocasta.”

Before departing with the rest of the party, Mon spared one more moment to say goodbye to her companion. “Master Skywalker," she bowed.

Anakin smiled gratefully. “Senator Mothma.” He bowed back. “Thank you.”

With that they parted ways, and Anakin found himself following another friend who had no recollection of him.

* * *

“I won’t ask how you ended up on Coruscant.”

Aayla led Anakin through the base, ducking under fighters flying far too close to the ground, weaving their way around the swarms of officers and soldiers that populated the complex. “I’ll let you explain that once we’re all gathered for the briefing," she gave him a smirk. “Though I am quite curious.”

As they walked Aayla explained to him how the rebellion had come to settle on Dantooine and how they were working with certain individuals within the Imperial Senate to monitor the situation on the capital and gain intel on Palpatine. Anakin silently mused that Padmé must be among them. He couldn’t imagine that she didn’t have a hand in this operation.

“I still can’t believe that Palpatine was able to gain control of the Senate so easily," he lamented, gazing at the ships soaring down from the atmosphere.

“He already had control," Aayla narrowed her eyes, and Anakin could feel her regret, anger, and sorrow swirling around her through the Force. It was quickly tampered down, however, and she sighed. “He had the galaxy wrapped around his finger. And we were blind to it the whole time.” She stopped mid-stride. She spared a glance at him, the setting sun casting a warm glow upon her cool skin. “Now, I fear the time of the Jedi is at an end.”

They had reached the entrance to the courtyard at the center of the enclave, Anakin realized. Looking to the sky he could see Dantooine’s moons just behind the clouds. He thought of Luke and Leia.

“There’s always hope," he said softly. Aayla turned around, her sympathetic expression shadowed by a harsh reality. They faced one another, and Anakin looked down for a moment before returning to her eyes. “I know that the Republic and the Jedi can be restored," he promised. “If we lose faith in that, then what are we fighting for?”

 _More wise words from Obi-Wan_ , Anakin thought to himself.

The wry smile returned to Aayla’s face. “Spoken like a true Jedi," she sighed. “Come, you must want to be reacquainted with the others.” She motioned for him to continue following her. “We told everyone else to come gather here once we heard you had entered the atmosphere," she explained. “They’re all anxious to meet you.”

“Do you often receive survivors?”

“Unfortunately, no. Most of the Jedi here escaped to the planet in small groups or pairs soon after the Purge. To find a lone survivor now would be quite rare. Zubian Ankonori was with three other Knights hiding out on Anoat when they were discovered a few months after Order 66 was declared. Zubian was the only one to escape.”

Anakin’s throat felt dry. “I see.”

“Oh," Aayla’s melancholic tone suddenly shifted, “here comes one of your greeters now.”

A human youngling was running towards them at full speed. “Master Secura! Master Secura!” The little girl was practically bouncing, her dark, unruly hair waving wildly in the breeze. Her yelling caught the attention of a few other figures in the courtyard, who turned their heads to the newcomers.

Aayla knelt down to meet the incoming girl, who all but barreled into her. “Master Secura!," she cried. Anakin surmised she must have been about ten years old. 

“Hello, Mari!," Aayla laughed, breaking her embrace with the child, who promptly took notice of Anakin and gasped.

“Are you the new Jedi?," she asked, wide-eyed, before remembering herself and bowing, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Anakin knelt next to Aayla, holding back a chuckle. “I am. It’s nice to meet you," he outstretched his hand, “My name’s Anakin.” Mari eyed the leather glove somewhat warily for a moment before eagerly shaking his open hand. Anakin guessed that she must have only been eight or so when the Purge had happened. He supposed her Jedi upbringing in the past two years had been slightly more casual in this environment.

The other Jedi had started to gravitate towards them, and noticing this, Mari gave a small tug at his arm, her hand still clasping his. “Come on," she threw her head towards the others, “I’ll introduce you.”

Standing back up, Anakin could see that there were about fifteen or so other Jedi. A few of them must have been padawans and younglings judging by their age, but the majority were adults. Anakin realized with a pang that most of the children would have been wiped out easily in the Purge.

He searched the crowd for any more familiar faces, with a start recognizing Eeth Koth and . . . _was that Quinlan Vos?_

Dejectedly, Anakin realized neither Obi-Wan nor Ahsoka were among them, but his feelings were quickly brushed aside as the small crowd began to swarm him. Some of them were gazing at him with awe, which Anakin was not unused to, but this was a different kind. Before, when he first became a padawan, he was often the subject of interest at the Temple. Only then, behind the other Jedi’s eyes were unease and ambivalence. Sometimes even resentment. He knew. He could feel it.

Now, their interest seemed to be founded by a sense of wonder and respect. A Jedi who had ventured into the heart of the Empire and lived. Seemingly surviving alone on the run for the past two years. Anakin couldn’t help but wish for their disdain instead.

“This is Anakin Skywalker," Aayla announced, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He’s just come from Coruscant and had a rough past couple of days, so try not to crowd him.” Regardless, the Jedi immediately clustered around him, some patting him on the back, congratulating him for making it, others asking him where he’d been all this time and why he had been on Coruscant.

Quinlan approached Anakin through the crowd, radiating his usual easy going aura and smirking the same smirk Aayla had given him before. “I guess it takes more than what they got to kill you," he quipped, and spiritedly gave him a quick punch to the chest. Anakin held back a grunt as the jab stretched the skin around his wounds, reaching instinctively to cover them. “Oh," Quinlan quickly withdrew. “Sorry ‘bout that, buddy.”

“It’s fine," Anakin replied, caressing the spot Quinlan had struck. “Don’t worry about it.”

Aayla crossed her arms. “Try not to hurt him, Master. We only just got him back alive.” A few chuckles followed her jest, and Anakin could feel another hand patting him on the shoulder good-naturedly. Never before had he been witness to this casual affection between Jedi, but it seemed the circumstances had nurtured this change in behavior. 

All of a sudden, a Rutian Twi’lek padawan shoved his way through some of the adults to get to the center of the mob, eliciting a few protests as he sidestepped an Iktochi knight in front of him, nearly knocking her over in the process. Reaching Anakin, he stood up to his full height, which admittedly wasn’t much, and puffed out his chest. “I’ve never seen you at the Temple before," he announced, pointing right at him, “How do we know you’re actually one of us? You have a lightsaber, sure, but how could’ve you survived this long if you weren’t being hunted?”

Anakin was dismally reminded of his reality, but before his mind could short-circuit in his search for a story, a voice broke through his thoughts.

_“Sammo!”_

All of the Jedi turned their heads to the courtyard entrance to see Madame Jocasta looking more furious than Anakin had ever seen her.

The padawan’s proud countenance melted instantly.

Jocasta stormed towards them, and the crowd parted immediately to accommodate her. As she came to stand next to Anakin he could feel the disappointment and irritation wafting around her. He was sure some of the other Jedi flinched. Anakin thought he saw Quinlan shiver.

Jocasta sternly crossed her arms, looking in every aspect the picture of Jedi nobility and severity. Her voice carried a note of weariness, but what defined it was its sharpness.

“Padawan Quid.”

The Twi’lek seemed to shrink at her tone. His chest was certainly deflated at this point.

“Do you think that was an appropriate way to address one of your fellow Jedi, especially one of your elders? Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

The boy suddenly didn’t find the ground as fascinating as it had been a moment before, and slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers. “No, Madame Jocasta,” he squeaked. Anakin wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or if his voice was just cracking given that he was a teenager.

“This is a difficult time. I should hope that these hardships have not forced us to resort to infighting. Especially against a newcomer in need of sanctuary.”

The padawan’s voice was barely audible. “Yes, Madame Jocasta.”

“It is unfair to make such an accusation when Master Skywalker would have been deployed throughout the time you would have been at the Temple, yes?”

“Yes, Madame Jocasta.”

Anakin was starting to feel guilty. The padawan wasn’t wrong, though he wasn’t exactly right either. He wasn’t sure what reaction might arise if he revealed the true nature of his situation right then and there, however.

“Now then. I would like you to apologize to Master Skywalker," Jocasta commanded.

The padawan sullenly raised his head to look Anakin in the eye, his lips pressed against each other in an expression of self-reproach. “My apologies, Master Skywalker," he bowed, “I made an erroneous judgement and spoke out of turn. I’m sorry.”

Anakin wasn’t sure how to respond. He was somewhat taken aback by the padawan’s address and still felt guilty for his reprimand. “It’s alright,” he said, trying to lighten the now tense atmosphere. “At a time like this you have every right to be suspicious. It’s what protects you from danger.”

Jocasta made a low sound of approval. “That may be so, Master Skywalker, but it is also important that we remember our place. And maintain respect.” She added her last comment with a knowing look at the padawan, Sammo, before turning back to Anakin. “I understand you haven’t had much time to socialize, but I came to request that you join us for the briefing. We have some news of Organa as well.”

Anakin felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

“That’s alright Madame Jocasta”, he recognized the voice as Quinlan’s. “We’ll hang out later.”

“Actually, Master Vos, I was about to request that you, your former padawan, Master Koth, and Master Potkin join us.” Jocasta nodded to Aayla, Eeth, and a dark-haired human female who was standing at the back of the crowd.

“Excellent!," Quinlan exclaimed. “We may get to mingle after all, friend.”

Jocasta huffed, though she seemed to appreciate the younger Jedi’s jollity. “Let’s not keep them waiting”, she ordered.

As they followed Jocasta out of the courtyard, Master Potkin made her way to Quinlan and Anakin. “Master Skywalker, it’s a pleasure to meet you," she greeted. “Shadday Potkin. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The feeling, for the first time, was mutual. Anakin didn’t think he had ever crossed paths with her, though with over ten thousand Jedi in the Order that didn’t necessarily surprise him.

“No, I don’t believe we have," he replied. “I’m glad we have the chance now, despite the circumstances.”

She nodded. “So what have you been doing all this time? I’m sure it mustn’t have been easy to be on your own.”

Anakin hesitated. “With all due respect, Master Potkin," he paused, “I think it might be best to explain everything once we get to the briefing.”

Potkin smiled in understanding. “Of course.”

“If you don’t mind my asking," Anakin began, “how did you come to Dantooine?”

She looked ahead of her as if picturing the memory, sighing. “I was leaving Coruscant when Order 66 was declared. We were just disembarking from the atmosphere when the cruisers above the planet started to fire on us. In order to escape I immediately had to activate the hyperdrive. I didn’t even chart a course. I was lucky I didn’t shoot the ship into a star. I was also lucky that there were no clone officers onboard. I don’t think, even in that moment, I could have brought myself to slaughter them.”

Anakin thought of Rex, and painfully wondered where he was. If he was even alive.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself. _Not now._

“It was just my Arsix astromech and I in an Eta-class shuttle," she continued, her eyes drifting as she recalled the events. “Once we got out of hyperspace we were pretty low on fuel, so we ended up drifting through space for about two days until I could find a planet nearby where I thought we could be safe. It was then that I received a coded transmission from Madame Jocasta. She was in contact with Senator Organa through another Master, and was on her way to Dantooine to meet with him and other survivors he had managed to stow away. I was floating near Muunilinst at the time, and that was when she detected me. She directed me to use my remaining fuel to get to Dantooine. I’ve been here since.”

Anakin absorbed her words with increasing numbness. He wondered what he would have done. He wondered if he would have been able to bring himself to kill Rex, or Jesse, or Kix to defend himself. He remembered the aftermath of Tup and Fives’s deaths, and Palpatine’s all too easily digestible cover story.

“I’ve been traveling off planet for reconnaissance and covert relief missions as the alliance has been building its ranks, however. During that time we were able to successfully establish a number of cells as far as the Mid-Rim and recover more Jedi in hiding,” Potkin added. “Even now, I still can’t believe how few of us are left.”

Anakin swallowed. “Neither can I," he said, the frown on his face deepening. He thought of all the Jedi that died in the Petranaki arena, remembering the sand on his face and the heat of Geonosis’s sun. Unconsciously he flexed the fingers on his prosthetic arm.

“Remember, there’s always hope.” Anakin looked up to see Aayla walking in front of them, flashing a sympathetic smile. She raised her eyebrows. “Right, Skywalker?”

He breathed, feeling some weight lifting off his chest, and gave a slight nod, holding Aayla’s gaze.

* * *

Anakin had read of the ancient enclave as a part of his studies when he was just a padawan. All he had been privy to in terms of its likeness were a few illustrations and descriptions of the architecture. He had never actually been to Dantooine. The enclave itself had been all but decimated during the Jedi Civil War thousands of years before, and though it had been rebuilt shortly after, the enclave was eventually completely abandoned with the outbreak of the New Sith Wars. If Anakin had never known of the enclave’s existence, he never would have guessed it had once belonged to the Order. After two years of occupation it looked like a fully fledged military base, though, interestingly, the ancient gardens that dotted the perimeter were allowed to remain intact. It made for a strange sight.

Ducking under some cables tangled with vines hanging above a corridor entrance, the Jedi stepped into what Anakin guessed must have been the Dantooine Jedi Council’s chambers. It was dark, the only light provided by a large holotable that looked to have been hastily installed in the middle of the room. Two blba trees framed a row of chairs situated between them against the far wall, which were occupied by a number of soldiers and pilots, as well as what looked to be a few senators. Dodonna, Rieekan, Ackbar, and Senator Mothma stood at the table, among a few other other officers Anakin didn’t recognize. Zubian was standing just behind Rieekan.

The other alliance members gathered shuffled to allow the Jedi to get to the center of the chamber, a few of them whispering to one another as they passed. Senator Mothma was already speaking.

“After I received the last message from Senator Organa, one of our spies was able to determine that he was indeed arrested and brought to the Naval Intelligence Headquarters," she declared to the crowd, her face grim. As the image of the fortress appeared over the holotable, Anakin narrowed his eyes with bitter recognition. Ahsoka had been held there by the military after the Temple bombing and the death of Letta Turmond years ago. The news that Bail was now a political prisoner there unsettled him considerably.

“If they manage to crack him, our base, our intelligence network, everything, will be revealed to the Empire! They’ll exterminate us!”

A number of outcries followed the exclamation, the previously hushed whispers becoming louder and more agitated. Anakin felt himself struck by the sudden alarm and growing anxiety that permeated the room, attempting to collect himself as the voices both inside and outside his head grew louder.

“General Draven!”

Rieekan was staring furiously at the man responsible for the now rampant unease, standing across from him at the other end of the holotable. “We can’t sugarcoat the facts, General," Draven snapped indignantly. “I say we scatter our ships and clear our tracks now, before we lose our lives and everything we’ve worked for.” A chorus of counter arguments rose up as Rieekan tried to quiet the mob.

“This is an alliance, not a suicide pact!," someone shouted.

Ackbar slammed his fist on the table. “If we disband the Emperor has already won!," he cried, to which a voice from the crowd shot back, “Then let him!” The concern on the other Jedi’s faces was evident, despite the darkness, and Jocasta quickly strode forward to get to Dodonna and a Bothan official next to him.

As Draven and Rieekan resumed their debate, Senator Mothma attempted to step between them. “Generals, _please!_ ” In the disorder Anakin caught her eye. She allowed her distress to bleed into her features for a moment before returning her attention to her colleagues.

More and more voices were now fighting to be heard over one another, and amongst the anger and confusion, Anakin could taste the fear in the air. He remembered the aftermath of the first Battle of Geonosis, Jabiim, and the ever growing realization and unwillingness to see that the Jedi Order was dying a slow death. Here, it had been quick, snuffed out effortlessly like a candle. Embers still remained, but the fire of the Jedi had gone out of the universe. There was a lack of tangibility in the Force that stung, and despair threatened to fill the lungs like a thick and heavy cloud of smoke. The death of the Jedi and the rise of tyranny — which had already planted its seeds in the Republic long before the end of the war — weighed upon these people so heavily it threatened to break them, crushing them into dust.

It was this alliance and the promise of hope that stood between them and acceptance of their fate. If that was lost, then so were the Jedi, the Republic, and the galaxy itself.

The slave master’s greatest ally was acceptance. Sufference would not be their condemner.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber.

The storm of voices was instantly silenced. The maelstrom of emotions previously swirling slowed to become an unnaturally still sea, as if the waves feared to crash under the wrath of the moon. All eyes were locked onto the stranger, a Jedi Knight holding a lightsaber unnervingly still above his head.

Jocasta eyed Anakin cautiously while the other Jedi, as well as the rest of the crowd, could only stare, startled out of the chaos by the sound of the weapon’s ignition. No one moved, no one shared a glance with anyone else, no one spoke as the quiet descended upon them. Once more, Anakin caught Senator Mothma’s gaze. Breaking the stillness of the scene, still holding his eyes, she nodded to him, knitting her brow and straightening. Anakin felt himself breathe, and he deactivated his lightsaber.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker," he began, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on him, “Bail Organa risked his life to save mine, to bring me here. But I know that if he was here in my place, he would not allow you to let your fear get the better of you, and encourage you to give up your freedom and all you have done to fight for it.” Anakin was surprised that the words came to him with such fluidity, but as he continued, he realized that he was speaking from a kind of experience. An image of Shmi flickered in his mind, and he hesitated for a split-second as he considered his next words carefully. He reminded himself to breathe.

“I was born into slavery," he proclaimed, noticing the shifting expressions that ghosted over the faces of his audience. Jocasta's stare intensified, but Anakin continued, strength returning to his voice. “I know what it is to be stripped of your freedom and have your dignity discarded. If you give up this fight, you condemn the rest of the galaxy to this fate! I know that you face impossible odds, but the Republic’s chances of survival will more surely die if you allow your fear to control you.” Anakin thought of Obi-Wan as his former master’s words resonated from his own lips. “All is not lost as long as you believe it can still be saved.”

The crowd had loosened somewhat, some members of the ranks exchanging looks and shifting on their feet. Anakin’s eyes drifted back to Jocasta, noticing Senator Mothma standing a little way behind her. Both of them were smiling. The latter looked like she was just short of beaming, and the former archivist was looking vaguely pleased, though Anakin could feel her approval and gratification in the Force. Within it, Anakin could also feel the still present uncertainty that remained in the air, but something had shifted. As the silence fell once again, a small voice broke through it.

“I believe it can be saved.”

A young human pilot stepped out of the multitude, raising her head to meet the gazes of all those gathered. “The Republic,” she clarified after a moment, “I still believe we can save it.”

“So do I.” A Pantoran man stepped forward on the other side of the chamber. A Togruta quickly followed him. “So do I!” The words echoed across the chamber, more and more voices coming together in solidarity rather than clashing against one another. “As long as we live so does the Republic!,” came a declaration from the heart of the crowd, followed by a chorus of rallying cries.

Anakin felt invigorated by the rising mood as the swelling emotions of the alliance poured into him. This was the spirit of the Republic his wife had never stopped believing in. _Padmé_ , he thought wistfully, _I wish you were here to see this._

Mon looked on as Skywalker received a hearty pat on the back from one of the other Jedi. “Well said, Master Jedi,” she whispered to herself.

Draven scowled. “Inspiring words will not save us. It’s only a matter of time until Organa will be forced to reveal where we are,” he warned the others gathered at the holotable.

“Then I propose a rescue mission,” Mon responded. She expected the reaction she was given.

 _“What?,”_ Draven’s eyes threatened to fall from his head.

“Senator . . . ,” Rieekan began.

“We can discuss this later,” she cut in, “For now I think we must form a contingency plan in case we do need to avoid Imperial discovery.” 

“I agree,” Jocasta stated, to the surprise of the other officers. “Counselors, our first priority is maintaining the functionality of this organization. Then, we need to hold another meeting between just us and the Jedi who are here. Specifically Skywalker.”

“You want to know why he was on Coruscant,” Draven guessed.

“More than that,” she answered. “I believe he has been sent to us through the Force.”

The other counselors glanced at each other uncertainly. Draven refrained from rolling his eyes. He had never come into contact with any Jedi Generals when he had served during the war, but he knew of their reportedly sharp eyes and even sharper senses. He had already been witness to Madame Jocasta’s temper before and he was not keen to be subject to it. His attention drifted to Skywalker, who had been approached by several members of the crowd now and was speaking with them as the jovial uproar around them continued.

“What makes you say that?,” he muttered testily. Jocasta smiled, wryly but knowing.

“I think he’s the Chosen One.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who are keeping up with the story! I hope you’re enjoying it so far. I loved reading your comments, keep letting me know what you think, I’d love to hear your criticism!


	9. Grand Designs

Before the excitement of the conference had died down, it was announced that the counselors would convene again in the early morning to discuss an emergency evacuation plan in the event that the base was discovered. Everyone was ordered to alert the cells stationed on other planets and the alliance spies on the capital. New instructions were being issued all throughout the night, and the base was as active as it had been during the day.

Anakin wondered if he would ever have the chance to share his story when Jocasta had motioned him to join her as they filtered behind everyone else leaving the council chambers. She explained to him that they would join the counsel again in the morning, but before that, she wanted to hear of where he had been since the end of the war.

After sending Zubian to help supervise the execution of evacuation preparations with the rest of the Jedi they had left behind in the courtyard, Jocasta summoned Senator Mothma, and led the knights to a plaza just outside the main enclave structure, among the towering blba trees. Once the Chandrilan senator joined the Jedi, Jocasta looked around her as if conducting a headcount before her eyes settled on Anakin again.

“So, Master Skywalker,” she began, “I have no doubt that each of us, save for the senator of course, are aware of your . . . atypical presence in the Force.” Anakin became increasingly aware of the collective gaze upon him. This was different to the conference just beforehand. If anything he felt like he was back in the Jedi Temple, at the mercy of the Council. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the Jedi would certainly take notice of his striking presence in the Force, but he had thought at this point he would have already had a chance to explain himself.

Jocasta continued. “Not only is your presence stronger than any being I have ever encountered before, but the Force twists about you strangely. Almost as if . . . you are out of place.” She crossed her arms. “Tell us,” she commanded, but not unkindly, “who are you?”

Anakin knew that Senator Mothma would have told the counsel that he had explained his origins to her. He looked to her for a moment before facing all of the Jedi gathered around him.

“I am a Jedi, or at least I was,” he started, earning a few looks of discomposure. “I left the Order, three years ago.”

“Because of the war?,” Eeth Koth asked.

Anakin shook his head. “No. That’s just it.” He could feel the unease and bile begin to creep into his voice, and he pushed it down. “When I woke up a few days ago, Coruscant was still called Coruscant. The war had ended years ago, and so did Palpatine’s rule.” Now he could feel the rising confusion and concern bubbling up around him. The Senator’s face was stony. “The Jedi Order was still alive and the Separatists were no longer a threat to the Republic. We had been at peace since just after the Battle of Coruscant. But a few days ago I came into contact with a Sith artifact at the Jedi Temple. Somehow, some way, it sent me here, changed the timeline of events. The war didn’t end the way it was supposed to and I don’t know why. Now I’m the only one with any memory of the galaxy the way it used to be.”

The Jedi quietly looked amongst themselves. The Force told them he wasn’t lying, he knew, but they still looked like they were having a hard time reconciling with the information.

“What did this artifact look like?,” Jocasta questioned. “Do you know where it came from?”

“Korriban.”

Anakin felt the spike of alarm surge through the masters. “It was spherical and gold,” he continued, “It was surrounded by two rings and had a nova crystal embedded in the center.” Anakin shook his head again. “The truth is,” he began, “I killed Palpatine at the end of the war. He . . . was trying to turn me.”

No one asked why. They could all feel his presence in the Force. Still, the claim shocked them, though they didn’t show it.

“Somehow, in this timeline, I must have died before I was discovered by the Jedi. Which changed Palpatine’s death. But that artifact must have done — must have altered something to make things the way they are now.”

Jocasta looked thoughtful, glancing at Senator Mothma before speaking again. “I must admit you were unfamiliar to me when we met you. There may have been ten thousand Jedi in the Order, but my age and position allowed me to be at least antiquated with most of them. But your name and face were not ones I remembered. I thought that curious at the time, along with your presence.” She searched Anakin’s mellowed yet resolute expression.

“Where and how were you discovered by the Jedi?”

“Tatooine. During the Naboo Crisis, about ten years before the Clone War began.”

“That was when Master Vos and I were there,” Aayla cut in, turning back to Quinlan.

Anakin hadn’t found out until a few years into his padawanship that Aayla and her former master had been in Mos Espa at the same time Qui-Gon found him. They had been on an undercover mission at the time, and Obi-Wan had told him that Quinlan said, had he been aware of Qui-Gon's plight, he would have aided him in getting back to Coruscant.

“Qui-Gon Jinn discovered you,” Jocasta said knowingly.

Anakin looked at his feet. “He did.”

“Did he survive where you came from?”

“I’m afraid that’s one thing that didn’t change.” Anakin’s throat was dry again.

Jocasta released a low hum, contemplating his words. “You couldn’t have been very young when he found you,” she concluded.

Anakin sighed. “I was nine,” he replied.

Jocasta looked slightly taken aback. “Nine?,” she breathed. The other Jedi didn’t hide their disbelief.

“The Council didn’t want me to be trained, but Obi-Wan made a promise to Qui-Gon that he would.”

“So Obi-Wan trained you.” Jocasta pressed a hand to her chin. Anakin was about to ask if they knew of Obi-Wan’s whereabouts, but he faltered, scared that he might not want the answer. In his hesitation Jocasta spoke up once more. “And why would he make this promise?”

Anakin could feel a familiar discomfort taking shape within his chest. “Qui-Gon — there was a prophecy. He thought I—,” Anakin wasn’t sure how to continue. “He thought that I had something to do with it.”

Jocasta seemed to have found the answer she was fishing for.

“He believed you were the Chosen One,” she stated simply.

The other Jedi grew more still, seemingly holding their breath. Anakin exhaled, somewhat unnerved by her bluntness. “Yes.”

Jocasta allowed a wistful smile to cross her face for an instant. “Qui-Gon always had an interest in the texts of ancient Jedi and their history. I think I can see why he thought you fit the description.”

Even after all this time, even now that Palpatine was dead, or rather he had been, Anakin still wasn’t sure that he could fully accept Qui-Gon’s belief in him. His experience on Mortis did little to encourage him. He didn’t want to think that balance could only be the result of death, a phantom that never seemed to leave him during his time there. Even after destroying the Sith, an uncertainty had always plagued him, and it was something he avoided contemplating.

“So,” Jocasta began again, interrupting his thoughts, “you were accepted into the Order at quite an old age. That must have been difficult.”

_So now you acknowledge how I was treated by them._

As soon as the bitter remark entered his consciousness, Anakin squashed down the sentiment. Jocasta wasn’t the source of his misery at the Temple in his early years, and technically, this wasn’t even the Jocasta he had known for the past decade. Besides, this resentment wasn’t very Jedi-like. Then again, was he really a Jedi anymore?

“You’re taking this ‘coming from an alternate dimension’ in strides, aren’t you, Madame Jocasta?,” Quinlan quipped, crossing his arms.

“Did you all forget that tremor in the Force barely days ago? The timeline of events is certainly uncanny,” Jocasta retorted. She turned back to Anakin. “We were all aware of a violent aftershock in the Force. I think confronting this now has allowed us to reason its origin.” She stared pointedly at him. “You know who you are.”

Anakin found his mouth moving before his mind. “The Chosen One is a myth.”

Jocasta looked skeptical. “Why did Qui-Gon believe you were special?,” her posture became subtly reminiscent of when she had scolded the padawan earlier.

“I had a high midichlorian count.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

Potkin exchanged a glance with Eeth and Aayla. “But that’s not all.” Jocasta’s tone was sterner now, not with scorn or irritation, but a kind of curious regard. Anakin could feel her probing within the Force, projecting waves that ensured him of her sincerity. He sensed a deeper concern beneath the surface, within each of the Jedi. The senator too.

The knot in his stomach was tightening. An uncomfortable sensation of embarrassment came over him, a wound that would forever be fresh, stinging of shame for his history. Anakin had never spoken to his mother about where he came from. She had always told him it wasn’t something he had to worry about, and as he got older, he thought he understood what she had meant. He had spent so long evading the thought and become so good at it that it almost never entered his mind. He didn’t have the luxury of running away from it now, however.

“He thought—,” Anakin faltered, “He thought the Force — the midichlorians — had something to do with my conception.” There was another shared look between the Jedi.

This time Master Potkin spoke. “Was this because of your midichlorian count?”

Anakin still couldn’t bring himself to look them directly in the face. He was frustrated he couldn’t, but all the same he kept his gaze at his feet, his robe pooling around them on the earth. “Obi-Wan told me years later that Qui-Gon had asked my mother about my father . . . and she told him there wasn’t one.”

Jocasta’s expression remained stoic, but her mind was active, searching in the space between them. “She said she couldn’t explain it,” Anakin croaked. All of a sudden he felt like he might throw up. He wasn’t sure if it was the thoughts of his mother or the sobering understanding he began to grapple with as he said it all out loud. Acknowledging it in the open and swallowing the fact that neither Obi-Wan, nor Qui-Gon, nor Shmi would ever lie to him about something so significant. It was hard to believe, but it was even harder to conceive that any of them would hide the truth. They wouldn’t. Not if it was for his sake.

No one said anything. Even Quinlan kept his mouth shut. Night had fallen on Dantooine now, and the cool wind that accompanied it easily and bitterly blew through each of them, despite their layers of robes and tabards. The former archivist stepped towards him, breaking the silence. “Then you are the Chosen One,” she affirmed.

Anakin finally met her eyes. Jocasta’s face implored him to accept the truth. The other Jedi and the senator looked on. “You are here to bring balance. And you will.”

Anakin thought of Padmé and their children. He wondered if he would ever see them again, if what had been done could be reversed, if he could just wake up from this nightmare. But there was no escape from reality. He was all that was left of the galaxy that had been. He looked around him at the faces of people who had lost everything, but were still fighting to restore what could still be saved. He was among them now. And they needed him.

_“You have brought hope to those who have none.”_

Shmi’s voice echoed in his mind, smothering his reservations and doubts. “I know,” he murmured, finally allowing himself to embrace it.

* * *

Bail’s cellblock was freezing. His hands were bound by durasteel cuffs, chafing his skin and making his wrists raw. The icy air did nothing to relieve him of the pain, only stinging the wounds more. He had lost count of how long he had been there, rounding it up to be about three or four days. Mon would have arrived at Dantooine by now. In hindsight, she hadn’t escaped the planet a moment too soon. Barely two minutes after he had gotten back to his own apartment, the authorities had come knocking down his door. Bail remembered when those same men had come to his rescue during the hostage crisis at the Senate office building when the war first began.

A shudder passed through him, but not because of the cold. Before the Imperial Center Guard stormed the apartment he had been able to send a last-minute message through Mon’s private com channel, knowing that she would put the pieces together. After they secured him, Bail had demanded to know what he was accused of, what crime he had committed, but he received no answer. He was simply cuffed and brought to the naval base, which duly functioned as a maximum security prison.

Upon being shoved into his cell, Bail came face to face with one of the Emperor’s favorite lap dogs, Governor Wilhuff Tarkin. Bail didn’t think he had ever seen the governor looking so sickeningly pleased, but he didn’t have long to contemplate it. Tarkin had already launched into a lecture congratulating himself on his personal distrust of Bail, which seemed to have been well-founded all along. The man assured him that he could not hide a Jedi on Imperial Center for long, and as soon as the Jedi was found, Bail would be promptly punished.

“Where’s your proof that I’ve done anything wrong?,” the senator asked, keeping his voice level. He refused to be intimidated.

Tarkin sneered and began to circle him slowly. “Do you take me for a fool? Do you take the Emperor for one? We identified your speeder, Senator. You are a known Jedi sympathizer and always seem to be at odds with the government’s policies. I can only believe the Emperor continued to allow you to live for this long because you weren’t a threat. Perhaps he found your feeble campaign amusing.”

Bail let his well mannered senatorial mask fall, returning Tarkin’s smirk with a vicious glare. At his change of face, Tarkin followed suit. His smile curled in on itself and his nostrils flared. He glowered contemptuously, leaning down to meet Bail’s eyes, his nose barely inches away from his prisoner’s. “But now that you have openly exhibited your defiance,” he growled, “you have left us no choice but to _deal with you.”_

Bail held his gaze, unflinching. “You need to be made an example of,” the governor leered, standing back up to his full height. “I suspect that you may have allies in the Senate and beyond that could and would, if given the chance, follow your lead. They will be made examples of as well.”

Bail decided not to give Tarkin anymore ammunition and kept quiet. The man almost looked disappointed that Bail didn’t want to spar. He huffed.

“I have a meeting with the Emperor at present,” he declared, “When I return, I very dearly hope that you will have decided to be compliant and tell us the truth.” Bail remained silent. Tarkin squinted, drawing the lines on his face together, and released a disdainful sigh. “Very well then,” he straightened, nodding politely in spite of the situation, “I’ll see you in a few hours, Senator.”

Before Tarkin finished climbing the stairs he suddenly stopped, turning to the guard standing to his left. “Make sure you swab him for any traces of the Jedi’s blood,” he ordered, and he resumed his ascent.

As Tarkin exited the cell, an Imperial interrogation droid hovered inside, needle already equipped. Just before the door had closed, Bail caught Tarkin looking over his shoulder, a nauseating smile gracing his face. That had been days ago.

Bail was exhausted, dehydrated and freezing. But he hadn’t cracked yet. His lip was bleeding from all the biting he had done during the interrogations, and he had dug his nails fairly deeply into his palms as well, dotting shallow caverns across them. But if this was what he had to go through to protect his cause, then it was all worth it.

Another shiver shook him and he coughed, trying to shake the flem from his throat. He thought of Breha, who was probably terrified and wondering where he was and if he was even still alive. If it had been as long as he guessed it was, Bail wouldn’t blame her for thinking so. The Empire rarely took prisoners. It was much more effective to execute enemies of the state.

Without warning, his cell door opened, and Tarkin waltzed in behind two troopers, looking particularly enlivened. Bail almost preferred his scowl.

“Good morning, Senator,” the governor greeted slimily. Bail languidly tilted his head to face him.

 _Was it morning?_ He was feeling more disoriented by the hour. Wary that the roughness of his voice would betray the true fragility of his state, Bail offered no reply.

“Good news. You’re being relocated.”

_Relocated?_

He was already on the capital. Sitting in its largest maximum security prison. At the mercy of the Emperor. He was in as much danger as he could possibly be in. What could they possibly hope to achieve by plopping him somewhere else?

_Oh no._

Bail must have let his realization slip into his expression because Tarkin’s smile only grew wider. “You needn’t worry, Senator,” he chided, obviously enjoying himself. “We’re simply moving you to a secondary location. You’ll finally be able to get some fresh air.”

Against his better judgement he spoke. “You’re a monster,” Bail spat. Tarkin only blinked in amusement. He once again bent down to the senator’s eye level, quietly reveling in the power he held and the helplessness of his prisoner.

“Actually,” he whispered, “I’m a governor.”

* * *

The Alliance base was still buzzing with activity, and squads of ships were now leaving the atmosphere at a routine pace. The approaching storm clouds had extinguished the light of the twin moons, and the night was unusually dark.

Jocasta had dismissed the other Jedi to help the soldiers, pilots, and other officers with the vacation of the base’s assets, leaving Anakin alone with her. Senator Mothma had already excused herself to rejoin the other counselors. Jocasta told him to follow her, and neither of them spoke as she led him back to the courtyard where they had gathered before. Passing under the archway at the enclosure’s exit sent them through another corridor, one coated in moss and crawling with insects. Anakin was surprised to see that the doors still opened for them as Jocasta guided him into the room on the other side.

Once they stepped through the entrance the lanterns on the walls lit automatically, their glow dimmed by age and lack of use. As his eyes adjusted the little light that there was, Anakin made out the shape of some kind of structure at the room’s center.

“This was the Fountain Room,” Jocasta informed him quietly, her voice echoing through the empty space. Now Anakin could see the massive fountain that towered above them, surrounded on four sides by empty pools, each containing their own smaller spouts. The earthy marble that made up the structure was severely fractured and deteriorated, and plants had infiltrated the cracks, sprouting everywhere they could.

“Like the Room of a Thousand Fountains on Coruscant?,” he asked.

It had probably been his favorite thing about the Jedi Temple in his years growing up there. Before Naboo, Anakin had never seen so much water in one place. He was fascinated by the sheer amount of life that sprung from it, to say nothing of its beauty. Water was more than just an important resource on Tatooine, it was sacred. There were plenty of rituals and folk stories that centered around it that Anakin could distinctly remember. He also remembered how the threat of it being withheld was often used to motivate slaves who disobeyed their masters. But on Naboo, no one lived with that fear. Seeing the planet for the first time, the quantity of water seemed almost decadent to him. They had so much of it that they threw it in things like fountains and pools just for citizens to admire. He recalled how horrified he was upon discovering that people _swam_ in it. All that fresh water gone to waste. But that wasn’t how it worked on Naboo. There, it was blue, and lush, and peaceful. And people were _free_. Coruscant didn’t have much in the way of natural beauty, but the Room of a Thousand Fountains at the Temple made up for that. The continual, tranquil flow of the water reminded him of Naboo, and by extension, Padmé. It was one of the few places he found he could actually meditate successfully.

“Not quite,” Jocasta answered, looking at him thoughtfully. “It’s not of the same scale, but it served a similar purpose. Through the water we feel the flow of the universe, and thus we are able to center ourselves within it. I assume you found it quite useful in your early days at the Temple?”

Anakin’s gaze shifted from the fountain back to the librarian. Sympathy graced her features, crinkling her eyes and giving the upturn of her smile a gentle quality. None of the other Masters had ever looked at him like that in his youth. They were all much more content to stare warily from a distance, his presence in the Force too bright and unnaturally vast. Maybe he should have gone to the archives more when he was a padawan.

He sighed. “Yes. I did.”

Jocasta seated herself on the short wall of one of the lower pools, cradling one of her wrists as she did so. “Tell me about your life,” she asked, nodding for him to sit. Anakin was surprised by her request, but he crossed his legs and sat, falling into the meditative pose out of habit.

“What happened after you were accepted into the Order?”

Anakin shifted, wondering if he should leave out certain details, but he decided against it. Jocasta would know, but not only that, she was doing this for his benefit, not hers.

But before he began, he had an urgent question.

“First,” he breathed, “I have to know. Obi-Wan — is he . . .”

He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the question. He had already been faced with that reality once before. He didn’t want to again. But he needed to know.

Jocasta didn’t wait for him to finish. “As far as we know, he’s alive.”

Anakin felt himself caught in a wave between extreme relief, joy, and crushing dismay. “As far as you know?,” he faltered. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t keep himself from doing so. If there was even an infinitesimally small chance that Obi-Wan was still alive, Anakin would believe it. He knew Obi-Wan would do the same.

Jocasta let her shoulders sink. “Nearly five months ago Obi-Wan traveled to the Deep Core. To Tython.”

_Tython?_

It was the homeworld of the Jedi Order, more accurately the ancient Order of the Je’daii. But the Deep Core was notoriously difficult to navigate, not to mention the task of getting through the Core region itself, which was no doubt swamped with Imperial patrols and destroyers. “Why would he go there?,” Anakin found himself asking.

“He received a vision. The survival of the Order would lie in its origins. There was something or someone on Tython he needed to find. He didn’t tell any of us much else. He left, alone, but we lost contact with him after he had notified us he reached the Deep Core.”

“You let him go alone?” Anakin could feel his frustration beginning to boil up, but he forced himself to squash it upon seeing Jocasta’s raised eyebrow.

“He insisted that that was what he had to do,” she answered bluntly. “I would not interfere with the will of the Force.”

Anakin huffed, not sure if he accepted her response or not. But Obi-Wan was stubborn. He hadn’t let Anakin accompany him to Mandalore all those years ago, and he doubted that his old master had lost his obstinate streak since then. Briefly, Anakin wondered if Satine was still alive, but Jocasta cut into his thoughts.

“I can see that you’re still quite close with your former master, even though you say you’ve left the Order.” Her smile had returned. “Tell me about that.” Anakin closed his eyes, picturing a freshly knighted Obi-Wan trying his best to look older and wiser than he was, trailing a little sandy-haired boy behind him through the halls of the Jedi Temple. He smiled bittersweetly at the memory. They’d both been so young; too much had been set on each of their shoulders then.

“He was always so patient with me,” Anakin murmured. “So I was always pushing him to the limit, seeing how far I could go until he yelled or lectured me, or something like that. I had to know that, no matter what I did, he would still be there.” He sighed heavily, reaching out to his memories. “To be saddled with a padawan so suddenly, at his age," Anakin broke into a grin, “I can't imagine how difficult I must have been.”

He launched into stories of he and Obi-Wan’s adventures, their close calls, their fights. Jocasta didn’t speak, even to comment. She just sat perfectly still and listened.

“It was only when I got a padawan of my own that I understood everything that Obi-Wan had to put up with,” he recalled, and Jocasta stirred.

“You had a padawan?”

Broken out of his reverie, Anakin realized he had never discovered Ahsoka’s whereabouts. Something between shame and concern and fear suddenly grasped him, and Jocasta sensed his panic immediately. She sat up a bit straighter and her serene countenance disappeared.

“I — yes. Her name is Ahsoka Tano, have you—”

“Master Plo Koon’s apprentice?”

As the gears in his head turned, Anakin quickly registered Jocasta’s words, who realized slightly too late that they probably wouldn’t have meant anything to him if he had lived a different history.

“I mean — a young Togruta girl, yes? With blue and white lekku and—”

“Yes. Did she survive the Purge?”

Jocasta’s face fell and with it so did Anakin’s stomach. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Plo was killed. But his padawan — we never knew for sure.” Anakin felt like his worst fears were coming true. As if he hadn’t already lost everything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Anakin let his head fall into his hands. He reached out into the Force with sickening dread, searching for Ahsoka. But there was nothing there.

He began to cry again, not caring that Jocasta was there. Who was going to tell him that it was wrong for a Jedi to mourn? That he should rejoice for those who became a part of the Force? He felt the tears trailing down his flesh hand.

He wasn’t there for her. And now she was gone.

He registered Jocasta resting a hand upon his shoulder, projecting empathy and comfort. He kept silently crying, wishing that when he opened his eyes he would wake up. “Tell me,” he sobbed wetly, forcing himself to ask the question, “Padmé Amidala — is she safe? Is she alright?”

He removed his hands from his face, forcing himself to breathe. Anakin had already told her he left the Order. He sensed that Jocasta was now putting the pieces together.

“She’s alive,” she reassured him. “She is what made all this,” Jocasta gestured to the space around them, “possible.” She nodded to him, her expression still soft, yet unwavering. “She is the mother of the Rebel Alliance.”

Anakin recalled the day Padmé and her colleagues had met with Palpatine days before his death on behalf of their Delegation. He had been standing behind the Chancellor, like an enforcer, he thought darkly, as his wife implored him to return to democracy.

“She’s working as a double agent on Coruscant,” Jocasta continued, “The Emperor is using her family as leverage against her to curb her outspokenness in the Senate, but she has perhaps been the most influential individual in this movement.”

“Do you know where she is?,” he quavered, relieved and full of pride, but still hesitant.

“She’s conducting a relief mission to Savareen right now. The plant duly functions as one of our cells as well, so I’m sure she’s delivering weapons or supplies to one of the bases there.”

Anakin nodded. _So far away,_ he thought. He pushed the reminder that she wouldn’t know who he was to the back of his mind.

Leaning forward, Jocasta laid a hand on his other shoulder, willing him to stand. “Come,” she said, “You need to get some rest before the briefing.”

Obliging, he rose back on his feet when he was struck suddenly by a searing pain throughout his entire body, and against his will, his knees buckled and he fell back to the floor.

“Skywalker!," Jocasta gasped, scrambling down to grab him. Anakin writhed, clutching his stomach for a few more seconds before the agony released him and he could once again breathe.

“Are you alright?,” Jocasta trembled. Anakin didn’t think he had ever seen her so disturbed, though perhaps if he had seen himself he would be in the same state. She carefully drew him into a sitting position, feeling his forehead and observing the color on his face. He had paled, and his breathing seemed to stagger. Anakin coughed, his whole body shaking as he did.

“I — I’m,” he suddenly winced from the effort of speaking. “I’m fine.”

Jocasta was grave. “No. No you’re not. Lay one of your arms on my shoulder, I’ll help you walk.” She towed him all the way back to the center of the base to the medical ward, and by the time they got there, both of them were exhausted by the effort. After the medical droid determined that nothing was wrong and redressed his old wounds, Jocasta informed him that he would remain there for the rest of the night. Before he could get a word in she cut him off.

“Don’t argue,” she ordered, “You’ll only drain yourself more. There is something deeply wrong going on. When the Temple was sacked I managed to save a great many holocrons. I’m going to see if any of them have any information on the artifact you described. I will come back for you in the morning for the briefing. Please. Rest.” With that she was gone and Anakin was sitting alone in a med bay once again. Without any options left, he finally allowed exhaustion to claim him, indulging Jocasta’s request and falling into sleep, dreaming of his master and apprentice.

* * *

Anakin was awakened by the sound of a Mon Calamari star cruiser taking off, the noise from the engines piercing his ears and leaving them ringing. He felt marginally better than he did the night before. He was still fighting fatigue, but the sudden pain he had experienced before was little more than a memory now.

Through the shuttered window he could see Dantooine’s sun was still rising, casting a dull orange glow over the plains. Anakin guessed he couldn’t have been asleep for more than eight hours or so, and heaved himself up, using the majority of his willpower to keep his eyelids open.

The medical droid had automatically deactivated itself, it was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the wall. It hadn’t been able to find anything that was wrong with him, but that did little to quell his anxieties. If anything it worsened them. There was a gnawing dread inside him, telling him that this had something to do with the mysterious Sith instrument. He wondered where in this galaxy it could be. When the Temple was raided did Palpatine recover it? Or was it still sitting beneath him in the dark? Before he could ponder the thought further, Jocasta appeared, striding through the door.

She didn’t waste a moment. “Good. You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“I — much better. Thank you.”

Jocasta nodded, seemingly glad to hear it. “I’ve come to fetch you,” she said, “It’s Senator Organa. Senator Mothma has proposed a rescue mission.”

Anakin straightened, but before he could formulate a response Jocasta was already herding him out the door.

They didn’t speak on their way to the council chambers, saving their energy for the debate that was to come. Anakin was surprised to see Jocasta outpacing him as they strode through the base. “Quickly,” she ushered him, marching down the corridor.

They arrived to find the same faces gathered at the holotable the night before waiting for them. “I’ve already informed them of your situation,” Jocasta whispered to him speedily as they made their way to the center of the room, “Though they may want to ask you a few questions about Sidious and the war.”

“What about Senator Organa?”

“That we will get to,” she answered as they reached the counselors and remaining Jedi.

“Master Skywalker.” Ackbar gave him a curt nod and a few of the other counselors followed his example. Anakin bowed back. He wasn’t sure of Ackbar’s exact rank, unsure of whether he was still a captain or not, so he stayed silent to avoid insulting him. “Tell me,” Ackbar began, a smile beginning to form at the ends of his mouth, “have we met before?”

Anakin appreciated the Mon Calamari’s levity. “We have. At the Battle of Mon Cala. Among a few other conflicts after that.” Ackbar squinted. “Ah.” After a moment he said, “Then it is an honor to fight alongside you again, Master Jedi.”

A couple of the other counselors nodded or made similar comments in solidarity, though Anakin caught General Draven crossing his arms and donning a displeased guise. He was about to acknowledge him, but the general spoke first.

“Are you all so sure that this isn’t a trick?,” he snapped. Anakin recoiled suddenly. “How do you know this isn’t a story the Emperor has devised to gain your sympathy and compromise your trust? To destroy us from the inside?”

He suspected that this argument was one that had already been fought before, yet Draven refused to drop it. Despite the indignation that his accusations had ignited, Anakin couldn’t blame the man for being reluctant to trust him. Before he could defend himself though, Jocasta stepped forward for him.

“He has told us nothing but the truth,” she remonstrated, a cold and severe fury smoldering beneath her words. “General Draven, you are very close to crossing a line.” He glared back at the archivist, now unafraid to voice how he felt.

“We only have your word to go on that he isn’t lying —”

“Which he is not.”

Anakin wondered if he should step in.

“So you say,” Draven retorted, “But you all have to admit the absurdity of this claim!”

No one answered him. Jocasta, surprisingly, remained silent. Anakin realized with newfound clarity that she was waiting for him to say something. He shifted on his feet.

“Captain Ackbar?,” he asked. The admiral turned, neither he nor the Jedi or other counselors attempted to correct him. “When Mon Cala erupted into civil war, it was you who never lost faith in Prince Lee-Char and his ability to lead. Even when the Quarren turned against you, Riff Tamson had taken the planet, and Republic forces were overrun, you held out hope. Please. I hope you will put your trust in me now as you had then.”

Ackbar’s face was difficult to read. Anakin couldn’t tell if he had been successful or not. Senator Tills was standing right next to the admiral, her mouth slightly open, looking between him and Anakin. The others gathered followed her gaze. After what to Anakin seemed like an eternity, Ackbar huffed heartily, and reached out his arm to rest his hand on his shoulder.

“You already have my confidence, Master Jedi,” he smiled, “And I am most glad to give it.”

Anakin’s anxiety fizzled away, as did the tension in the room, and he smiled back.

“By the way,” Ackbar started, leaning in closer, “It’s _Admiral_ now, son. Just to let you know.”

“Oh. Of course. Admiral.” He nodded, and as he did he could feel Jocasta’s satisfaction in the Force. Draven was silent.

“While I am curious to hear of your galaxy, I’m afraid we have a more pressing matter on our hands,” the admiral announced, activating the holotable. “Senator Organa is being moved. Our spies report that he will be transported from the naval base to an Imperial prison barge, but where they’re taking him, we’re not sure.” The image of the massive ship flickered to life above their heads, the hologram rotating slowly as the picture buffered and glitched.

Anakin was about to question why they would bother removing Bail from the capital, before he quickly realized the Imperials’ motives.

“They want us to try to rescue him.”

Ackbar nodded gravely. “Exactly. We suspect it’s to draw you in.”

Anakin blanched. “Me?,” he turned to the other Jedi.

Jocasta rested one of her hands on the holotable. “The Emperor would be aware of your presence,” she stated. “He wants you. You were the key to his destruction and the destruction of the Sith in your timeline. I have no doubt Sidious is aware of your importance. Even if he isn’t enlightened of your true identity, he knows by your sheer presence in the Force that you are a danger to him.”

The Bothan official beside Senator Mothma spoke up. “If this is true, should we even consider going through with a rescue mission? I don’t want to turn my back on Senator Organa, but if we don’t execute this exactly it could be the beginning of the end for us.”

Ackbar grunted. “Especially if it’s a trap,” he concurred.

“Perhaps, Utric,” Senator Mothma piped, “But our intelligence hasn't reported any fleet launches to Dantooine, nor any other planets we have bases on. I don’t think they’ve been able to interrogate Bail successfully. But I don’t believe he’ll be able to hold on much longer. If we leave him in Imperial hands I fear we will lose our assets to a degree we may not be able to recover from easily.”

“The risks are too great,” Draven countered, still maintaining his grim mask.

“But so are the rewards,” Mothma pressed. “Not to mention that there may be other rebel prisoners and spies on that barge.”

Anakin frowned, looking between the counselors. None of the other Jedi had made an input. If _they_ weren’t going to speak then _he_ would have to.

“I agree with Senator Mothma,” he announced. “We risk more by not taking the bait. And I’ve conducted extraction missions like this before. I know we can get him out.”

“That may be so,” Jocasta conceded, “but you are in no condition to break into a maximum security Imperial prison ship.”

Anakin was steadfast. “Bail risked his life for mine. Now I have to repay my debt.” Jocasta narrowed her eyes. Anakin could see her perspective. He was aware of his supposed importance, but he couldn’t stand by when he knew he could help. Not when all of this was the cause of his actions.

She seemed to recognize his resolve, studying his face for a moment before sighing. “Alright,” she resigned, “But if we are to go through with this then we cannot take any chances. You must stay focused, and fulfill your task quickly. We cannot afford to waste time.”

To everyone’s surprise, Draven interjected. “I’m coming too,” he asserted. He raised his eyebrows at the crowd’s collective perplexed expression.

“You Jedi’ll need some sharpshooters. You can’t win this war with the Force alone.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you all for being so patient with updates, I’m doing my best to upload every Friday. Many thanks to those of you who are commenting, I’ll try to get back to you all as soon as I can! I really enjoyed working on this chapter; Tarkin is one of my favorite lesser-explored characters in the series and he is incredibly fun to write, as is Bail. Let me know what you guys think! Thank you for reading!


	10. Breaking and Entering

The extraction team consisted of Aayla, Quinlan, Shadday, Anakin, Draven, and three other soldiers, two of which were clones. The non-clone officer was Senator Mothma’s pilot, Captain Tonra, whom Anakin recognized as being a former member of Padmé’s staff. They had met once, through Typho, when he had accompanied Padmé to Naboo as extra security during the middle of the war.

Tonra was going to be their pilot for the journey to the prison barge; they were taking _The Andrasha_ , which would hopefully allow them to avoid Imperial patrols or boardings before they reached Coruscant. Diplomatic vessels were far less prone to surprise inspections than other ships, guaranteeing them an additional layer of protection.

The plan was to sabotage _The Andrasha_ , destroying the hyperdrive generators, which would give them the excuse to make an emergency stop at a prison ship. From there, they’d intentionally crash into the docking bay to not only sell the charade, but create a distraction they could use to sneak into the cell blocks without being noticed.

Anakin was positive that if Obi-Wan had been there he’d be less than pleased with their strategy for entrance, likely even more exasperated that his former padawan was still crashing ships in a fiery blaze, further encouraging his aversion to flying.

Once they had gotten on the barge, the plan was essentially to grab and go. It was more than likely that the Empire was — in reality — hanging Organa at the end of a string, baiting the rebels to rush in and snatch him, so they couldn’t afford to take many chances. There weren’t even preparations to go through with the rescue until they knew for certain Bail was onboard, but intelligence soon reported that arrangements were being made to move the prisoner off planet. With that, they moved immediately to depart Dantooine.

Being short on time, the plan would again be briefed on the voyage to Coruscant. Before boarding, the remainder of the rebels still on the planet, as well as the other Jedi, gathered to see them off.

They didn’t speak, but Anakin could understand the warning in Jocasta’s gaze from his spot on the bridge. Her brow wasn’t drawn particularly severely, but Anakin could see the tension with which she held her arms and the rigid neutrality of her expression. Her eyes were hard, hopeful still, but shadowed by a persistent doubt.

It reminded him of those times he could see Obi-Wan watching him take off from the Temple on a rare solo mission.

The other Jedi surrounding Jocasta, specifically the younglings, were waving enthusiastically as the ship’s engines began to hum and _The Andrasha_ ’s landing gear withdrew as it rose into the air. Before she could quite vanish from view, Anakin saw Jocasta mouth the words, “May the Force be with you,” and she offered a hopeful smile. They both knew he had seen it, and he gave her shrinking form a nod in return.

Whether it was solely an acknowledgement that he had understood her, or it was some kind of promise, Anakin didn’t know.

_May the Force be with you, Jocasta._

After the coordinates were set and they were in hyperspace, Draven settled them around the ship’s holotable, once again running through their plan of attack.

The clones — Blitz, who was a former ARC trooper, and Goji, whom Anakin remembered as a pilot from the Battle of Malastare — were stationed beside Draven as he laid out the plan.

After crashing into the barge and getting aboard, they’d use the astromech they’d brought along, R3-A2, to infiltrate the ship’s database and find what cell they were keeping the senator in. They anticipated a possible large military force to be stationed one the ship, so stealth would be their greatest ally.

“We’re also going to plant this,” Draven pulled up the image of what Anakin recognized to be a Detonite bomb, “onboard to buy us extra time if we need it. A second explosion would divert all attention to the mid hangar and thus off of us. Tonra will be able to detonate it remotely. Contact him if you run into trouble.”

Tonra was trained for missions like this, being part of Naboo’s Royal Guard, though for this errand he was effectively just their getaway driver. He was to secure another ship with which they were to make their escape, as _The Andrasha_ would be little better than scrap after this.

The prison barge housed a second hangar on the lower decks, where they would rendezvous once they had recovered Bail and then escape back to Dantooine.

Anakin thought back to the Citadel and the mission to Lola Sayu as Draven outlined the structure of the barge. Everything that could have gone wrong on that operation did. He found himself clenching and unclenching the fingers of his mechno hand in agitation, the barely audible whining of the motors making him aware of what he was doing. Aayla seemed to sense the disquiet that hovered over him, giving Anakin a glance out of the corner of her eye before returning her attention to the hologram of the prison.

Anakin shifted to hold his arms fixed behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting. In the back of his mind he couldn’t deny that his collapse the previous night had shaken him. He had felt like he was dying, like his soul was being ripped from his body. Anakin couldn’t help fearing that if it happened again, this time it could get one of them killed. He wished Obi-Wan was there.

“We have to time this precisely.” Draven’s voice scattered Anakin’s train of thought. “The hyperdrive has to be disabled at exactly the right time so we can re-enter normal space right next to the ship, otherwise we’ll crash into Coruscant and kill ourselves.”

Quinlan let out a huff and crossed his arms. “Easier said than done.”

The general rose from his stance leaning over the holotable before responding, tilting his chin up in a motion of what Anakin could only guess was superiority, or something close to it. Perhaps a gesture to suggest that he expected not to be spoken to so casually, but, unsurprisingly, it didn’t seem to have any effect on the Kiffar Jedi Master.

“We all just need to be prepared, focused, and in sync,” Draven instructed, “When we approach a certain point on the nav computer, we’ll know when to blow the hyperdrive.” He crossed his arms to match Quinlan’s bearing. “With your Jedi reflexes it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Quinlan seemed amused by this, and as he raised his eyebrow the edge of his lip curled up with it. If Draven was irritated by this he didn’t show it. He had volunteered himself for this mission, and he couldn’t exactly afford to butt heads at the moment.

The rest of the trip was spent for the most part in silence. The other Jedi had slipped into a meditative state to collect themselves before their arrival; each of them were sitting alone in one of the ship’s cabins. Anakin tried to follow their example, sitting himself on the floor of another unoccupied room and crossing his legs under him. He rested his hands on his knees, his lightsaber placed before him on the ground. Temple conditioning had done its work, and he fell into the posture easily, breathing rhythmically as he had been taught, allowing his shoulders to relax. Meditation had never been his strong suit, and even as an adult he knew he had never truly grasped it the way Obi-Wan wanted him to.

As Ahsoka’s master he hadn’t done much in the way of meditation either. That hadn’t really been their style, and Anakin had had to resort to more creative means to allow the both of them to bear the stress and trauma of the battlefield. He found just talking helped. Oftentimes he’d take her to Dex’s Diner like Obi-Wan did with him when he was young, and even to Padmé’s apartment for dinner once.

His methodology wasn’t especially Jedi-like, but he recognized that that wasn’t what Ahsoka had needed, or him for that matter.

With a flash of something between grief and numb realization, Anakin recalled how young the both of them had been. He had barely turned twenty when Ahsoka came into his care, and she was just short of fifteen then.

He wondered how, even in the mounting conflict and increasing bloodshed, the Jedi and the Republic had ever become so desperate as to send children into battle. He sighed inwardly, reaching out to the fonder memories they shared in the face of war.

That was how he had learned to meditate, in his limited capacity at least, centering himself in the warmth of the thoughts of those close to him. It turned the constant thundering of the Force into little more than a whisper, dulling his senses and allowing him to sink into a seldom found tranquility. He couldn’t help the feeling of bitterness the memories incurred as he recalled the fates of each of his friends though, and Anakin forced himself to open his eyes, refusing to let his mind touch the echoes of a past that was no longer shared.

He suppressed a shiver as he leaned forward to pick up his lightsaber, holding it gingerly in his palms.

Unable to meditate or make himself useful in any other way, Anakin supposed the best he could do was sleep, and so he did.

* * *

Tarkin had never quite understood the Jedi nor their peculiar religion, and now that their Order was practically extinct, they were even more of a mystery to him.

The Jedi had been an integral organ of government and a significant component of galactic history for as long as anyone could remember, but the actual functionality and system of their faith was a bit of an enigma to outsiders.

Serving with them during the war had answered few of Tarkin’s questions, though, despite their somewhat mystifying nature, he wasn’t particularly interested in having those questions answered. He wasn’t intrigued by them the same way he suspected many of his fellow officers were, more than anything he had been frustrated by the ineffectiveness of their tactics in battle, which seemed to encourage the war’s tendency to drag on. For their reputation as great warriors, Tarkin found their restraint both disappointing and weak.

That mercy, however, was nowhere to be found in what had replaced them.

Soon after what had come to be known as “Empire Day”, the Emperor had unveiled the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy to the highest ranking military officers. A figure, clad in black, stood beside the Emperor’s throne, a dark bulging mask obscuring his face. There was little explanation as to where he had come from, and even less explanation as to why he had been given the position as the Emperor’s right hand.

Tarkin himself had been present then, watching as Palpatine allowed the man to strangle five of the officers standing before him, firmly holding his detached expression as the men writhed on the floor before him as they died.

A testament to the absoluteness of the Emperor’s will.

“This is Darth Ignavus,” Palpatine had declared, his voice echoing coldly off the chromium walls. “When he speaks, it will be as if I am speaking. His will is mine. And you will answer to him as you answer to me.”

Whether or not the figure was human, Tarkin wasn’t sure, neither could he be of his age, but he suspected youth hiding behind the mask. Under the ridged faceplate the governor sensed a fledgling seeking approval and reward.

He was aware of the man’s power, but he would not be the one to indulge him.

This creature was no Jedi, and as Tarkin had come to observe — despite all his displays of ferocity and authority, despite Tarkin’s apathy for the now-dead warriors — he was barely a shadow of them.

The Emperor had put a great deal of faith in his apprentice, surely aware of his potential, but Tarkin was already familiar with the sanctimony of Force-users, and he was not going to allow himself to come second to them any longer. He was not looking forward to dealing with Ignavus, but Tarkin was aware of his indispensability and knew that the Emperor would see it fit to punish his second-in-command should he be so tempted to lay a finger on him.

He stared out the massive windows of the prison barge’s bridge, raking his gaze over Coruscant’s surface. The planet gleamed like a jewel, but Tarkin felt as if he could smell its stinking underbelly from space. He wrinkled his nose unconsciously and brought his hands from behind his back to stroke his chin. Nils Tenant, another war veteran, now an admiral, approached him.

“Is there something on your mind?,” he asked as he reached his friend.

Tarkin had gotten Tenant his position; the two of them had worked together closely during the war, and by its conclusion Tenant had not only earned Tarkin’s respect, but had had the foresight to anticipate what its end would bring.

 _"Put in a word for me, Wilhuff — for old times’ sake,”_ he had said. _“A great change is coming — everyone senses it — and I want to be back in the action.”_

Tarkin returned his arms to their position behind his back, clasping them together tightly. “No,” he answered, “I am merely preparing myself for the Supreme Commander's arrival.”

Tenant understood immediately, and offered no comment. Ignavus was not popular among the other Imperials. Unlike them, the mysterious figure had never had to work through the ranks against impossible odds. He appeared from nowhere, already designated as their superior, and treated them as though they were lesser than he.

A sudden chill infiltrated the bridge, and Tarkin turned to see the subject of disdain himself striding towards them, his cape billowing behind him. The modulator within the mask distorted his voice, something Tarkin guessed he had implemented to conceal his youth, as well as inspire intimidation within all those who encountered him. It was something that amused Tarkin, and he was sure that Ignavus was aware and deeply ruffled by that.

“Governor, Admiral,” he greeted. He did not bow, nor even dip his head. “It seems the Emperor has stationed me here to ensure that your one failure,” he tilted his mask slightly toward the governor, “does not become two.”

Tarkin held back a smirk.

“Rest assured, my lord, that will not be the case. We are efficiently equipped to deal with any insurgence should we encounter it, whether or not you have graced us with your presence.” He allowed a carefully constructed smile to form over his lips now. “Though we are honored to have you.”

Tarkin was sure there was scowl sitting behind the mask, wrenched in an unpleasant expression of angry vexation. He only wished he could see it.

“Do not test my patience, Governor. It would do you well to remember the importance of our task and what it means to my master. What it means to me.”

Ignavus was the Emperor’s method for dealing with any Jedi survivors. He had publicly executed a few of them on Imperial Center, on the steps of what was once their Temple. A rogue Jedi was living proof of his incapacity, of his failure, and Tarkin could see that he had made their destruction personal.

He nodded.

“Of course, my lord. I would be loath to forget.”

* * *

Anakin stood before the hyperdrive generator, his hand outstretched and ready to crush it with the Force as soon as Tonra gave the signal. Shadday was a few meters away from him, both of her arms held out in front of the engines in the same stance.

It wasn’t long before they were given the command.

In an explosion of sound the hyperdrive collapsed in on itself and the ship’s engines released a piercing wail. The two Jedi were sent careening into the wall as _The Andrasha_ violently fell out of hyperspace.

They raced back to the loading dock to meet with the rest of the team, listening to Tonra over the com as he hailed the barge. “— need to dock immediately! We’ve been attacked by pirates and our engines are down, Imperial Station, come in, we need to dock!”

The reply came instantly.

“You are clear to dock, Captain, we’ll send a team down to assist you.”

As soon as the confirmation of clearance came Tonra put on speed and the ship was sent barreling into the hangar bay, flames trailing behind and gradually climbing the exterior as they gained speed. The force of impact uprooted them from their stance before the landing ramp, knocking both Goji and Draven off their feet. A shrill shriek tore their ears as _The Andrasha_ hurled across the hangar bay deck, smashing into the other ships and amassing a greater plume of smoke and ash. Tonra joined them with visible difficultly, R3 right behind him, lunging towards the Jedi and soldiers as the ship continued to skid. Blitz slammed his fist into the keypad to open the doors and extend the ramp, which ignited sparks against the steel bay floor as it came into contact with it.

“Jump!,” Quinlan commanded, diving from behind the door. The rest of them quickly followed suit, using the smoke as cover as they tumbled from the flaming vessel.

Already stormtroopers were rushing into the hangar as alarms blared, amplifying the ringing in Anakin’s ears. Adrenaline was pounding through his system, motivating him to sprint faster behind his fellow Jedi as they rounded one of the hangar exits, their cloaks carrying wisps of exhaust as they ran.

The hangar bay was in chaos. Their crash had triggered a domino effect, scattering the other ships, leaving them in ruins and destroying the bay beyond recognition. The smoke was beginning to sink now, nearly smothering the incoming troopers and impeding their vision. They hadn’t been spotted yet.

Escaping into an intersecting corridor and disabling the security cams, they spared a moment to catch their breath.

Anakin couldn’t deny to himself, despite the danger, that he had missed this in a way. A Jedi didn’t seek adventure and excitement, but Anakin couldn’t complain when _they_ sought him _._

His exhilaration was quickly quashed, however, when a sudden shudder passed through him, and he noticed the other Jedi had felt it as well.

“What was that?,” he asked, apprehension creeping into his voice.

Aayla and Quinlan glanced at one another. “It must be Ignavus,” Aayla said.

Anakin frowned. “Who?”

“A Jedi hunter. Sidious’s apprentice,” she answered.

“He’s the Supreme Commander of all Imperial forces,” Draven added, his face grim.

In a moment of cruel recognition, Anakin realized that that could have been him. What he could have become.

He felt somewhat at a loss. “He has an apprentice?,” he asked lamely.

“Always two there are,” Quinlan recited dryly. “This certainly makes things more complicated.”

“Arthree, plug in and find Senator Organa,” Shadday ordered the droid, motivated by a new urgency. She pointed to a socket in the wall. R3 complied immediately, accessing the database and scanning every prisoner’s cell instantaneously. After a moment he released a series of troubled beeps. Anakin had understood binary before he ever learned to speak Basic, and he whipped his head around in alarm a second before everyone else did the same.

Shadday’s face fell. “What do you mean he’s not in any of the cells?”

“I knew this was a trap!,” Draven spat, clutching the blaster in his hand tighter.

“What should we do, sirs?,” Blitz asked, leaning forward, “Captain Tonra’s already making his way down to the other hangar to secure a ship, should we follow?”

“No, wait.”

Anakin was sure he could sense Bail aboard. He stretched out, past the dark presence that lurked somewhere on the ship, and focused his attention on the Senator’s aura.

“He’s here,” Anakin affirmed, opening his eyes back up. “I’m not sure where though. My senses are clouded.”

“It’s Ignavus,” Shadday bristled.

“Wait a minute . . .” Anakin trailed off, noticing another lingering ghost. Someone he knew. “I sense something—”

“Familiar.”

Anakin looked up to see Quinlan with his eyes closed and chin lifted in concentration. “I sense it too.” He opened his eyes and blinked in the direction of the cell corridor that connected to the hallway they were stationed in. Without warning, Quinlan sprung from his knee and rushed into the corridor. Anakin leapt after him, the rest of the team following close behind.

“What are you doing?!,” Draven hissed. “We can’t afford to waste time, if we can’t find Organa we need to get out of here!”

Quinlan ignored him, skidding to a halt before a cell near the very end of the hallway. Using the Force he unlocked the control panel to open the durasteel doors, Anakin just behind him.

A collective wave of shock passed through the group, save for Quinlan, as the doors parted. Anakin felt his jaw become slack, feeling an odd sense of dark humor and bewilderment, the universe having reunited him with a face back from the dead.

Inside the cell sat a weary and bruised — yet very much alive — Asajj Ventress.

* * *

“What was that? What’s going on?!”

Ignavus was throwing another of his famous temper tantrums.

Nearly having been knocked off his feet before when a smaller vessel had smashed into their hangar, the Dark Lord had flown into a rage when he confronted the officer responsible for giving the ship clearance.

“How _dare_ you proceed without my approval!,” he seethed, curling his fist into the vest of the now whimpering officer, whose feet were no longer touching the ground.

“My apologies, my lord,” he sniveled, stammering over the words, “Their engines were dead — they were going to crash into the planet’s surface.”

“And now, thanks to you, they’ve crashed into _us!_ ”

The officer’s mustache only trembled pathetically in response.

Tarkin let out a discreet huff and moved to access the coms.

“All officers on deck, we have a wreckage on lower hangar bay G-08,” he announced, “Get to your stations immediately and assess the situation. Evacuate the survivors and get them to the medical bay.”

Ignavus slammed the officer in his grip to the ground so hard he may as well have been attempting to shove him through the floor. “No,” he growled, “They will be brought to the bridge! I can sense that something isn’t right. We may have stowaways here for Organa.”

Though he couldn’t see his face, Tarkin was almost certain that the man’s surely vile expression of displeasure was contorting into an unhinged smile. Ignavus turned to the governor, who noticed in the corner of his eye Tenant shrinking back involuntarily in response.

He hissed.

“I think we are dealing with a Jedi.”

* * *

“Asajj!”

Before Anakin could even process who they had found, Quinlan was already racing towards her.

“Vos!”

Ventress was shackled, a pair of thick Force-dampening cuffs clamped around her wrists, but that didn’t stop her from standing to meet Quinlan’s embrace.

Anakin found the scene quite strange, still standing in shock at the cell entrance.

“Let me get those for you,” Quinlan joked casually, a distinct fondness coating his tone. He waved a hand over the cuffs forcing them to unlock, and they fell to the floor with a loud clang. Ventress didn’t waste time throwing her arms around him, clutching him like he might slip from her hold at any moment.

“How did I know you’d come?,” she asked. Her voice was coarse, bristly, but a blissful smile was blooming on her face.

Anakin didn’t know Ventress was capable of such a thing.

He knew that during their time working together at the end of the war to assassinate Dooku they had grown close, close enough for Quinlan to develop feelings for her. Supposedly Ventress had felt the same, though Anakin had been skeptical of that. But ultimately their mission had ended in her death, Ventress having sacrificed herself to save Quinlan’s life. Quinlan had gone back to Dathomir to bury her, and Obi-Wan had gone with him.

At the time, Anakin hadn’t understood why, and he hadn’t really attempted to devote time to deciphering his friend’s decision, nor his motives. But seeing Ventress now, he could discern why Obi-Wan had believed in the good somewhere deep within her.

“Great,” Draven muttered, bringing Anakin back to the present, “Someone else we have to rescue.”

By now Shadday and Aayla had filtered into the cell, to Anakin’s surprise, greeting Ventress warmly. Confusion was beginning to become a constant.

“We didn’t know what happened to you,” Aayla said, laying a hand on her shoulder, “You never contacted us when you left Tatooine.”

_Tatooine?_

Anakin’s brow furrowed, but he hung back, tuning out the screeching alarm that was still ringing throughout the halls.

Ventress truly looked somber. “I know,” she replied. “And I’m so sorry. I should have told you,” she spared a glance at Quinlan, “but I didn’t think you would understand. I received information claiming that a surviving Nightsister was on Vandor, and I had to go.” A harsh look suddenly appeared on her face, her eyes searing with cold flame. “But it turned out to be a trap and they’ve been holding me here since. This ship has just been floating in the Sloo sector for a month, is it true we’re orbiting Coruscant?”

Quinlan suddenly pulled her in for another hug. “Oh thank the Force the Emperor never got to you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she muffled into Quinlan’s chest.

“They brought the barge here for the express purpose of stationing the Senator here,” Shadday surmised, “This ship is just a massive ploy.”

Draven barged into the cell, brushing past Anakin. “Which we already knew,” he snapped. “I hate to interrupt your reunion, but we need to find Organa _now_ if all of us want to get out of here alive.”

In turning her attention to the fuming General, Ventress locked eyes with Anakin, drawn by the Force swirling around him. Anakin didn’t move, struck still by a somehow living long-dead face. He absently guessed she was about to ask who he was when a creaking metallic moan filled the hall and the clatter of soldier’s boots against the floor grew louder.

Quinlan pulled back from Ventress, still holding her forearms. “That sounds like our cue. We need to find Senator Organa and get out of here. Do you know where they’re keeping him?”

Ventress looked taken aback. “The Empire has Senator Organa? I didn’t even know he was onboard.”

Shadday turned back to Draven, the clones, and Anakin. “We’ll split up to find him,” she ordered. “Quinlan, you take Aayla, Blitz and Goji and search the lower decks. Arthree can go with you, and so can Asajj. I’ll take Skywalker and Draven and we’ll work our way up.”

“Splitting up?,” Goji piped, “Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

Shadday remained stone-faced. “It’s the only one we’ve got.”

They quickly reassembled, informing Tonra of the change of plan over the com and moving to go their separate ways. As Anakin chased Shadday and Draven out of the corridor, he heard Ventress call out to him.

“Hey!”

Anakin turned uncertainly, still reeling from seeing her again, and not quite sure what to make of his reconciliation with the person she had become. Years after she had already died.

Ventress was smiling. At him. It was laced with trepidation and exhaustion and weariness, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Good luck.”

Anakin realized all he could do in response was nod. And so he did, but gratefully, finding himself smiling back and watching her run to rejoin Quinlan and the others.

“Skywalker!,” Shadday called, “Come on, let’s go!”

Anakin breathed, the sound of the sirens and soldiers and the smell of fire and smoke all rushing back to him. He exhaled. “I’m on my way.”

After another fifteen minutes they had climbed three levels of cell blocks, getting dangerously close to the bridge, without finding any sign of Bail.

“Arthree,” Shadday began, speaking into her com, “See if you can—” She stopped short.

Anakin felt it too.

Without warning, a squad of stormtroopers appeared at the other end of the corridor. The troopers seemed just as surprised to find them there as they were to be cornered. The one in the lead shouted, “Hey, you can’t be in here!”

Draven immediately brandished his blaster and fired into his chest.

The trooper’s body flailed backwards, momentarily throwing off his comrades before they fired back. Anakin and Shadday ignited their lightsabers, rushing at the company of soldiers and deflecting back the blaster bolts.

“Jedi!”, came the frightened cry from one of the troopers. Anakin was beginning to find this familiar.

As Shadday charged at them, Anakin used the Force to draw one of the troopers flying towards him, impaling his saber right into his midsection. He flung the man back at the remaining troops, scattering them before striking them all down simultaneously with a single clean slice.

Draven raised his eyebrows. “Good thing we’re not keeping score.”

Anakin thought that must have been the first time he’d seen the man display some levity in his life. Granted he hadn’t known the general very long, but he was beginning to believe he wasn’t capable of it. Shadday said nothing, silently eyeing the trooper Anakin had impaled. The men she’d engaged had not fallen to her sword, but her fists, now lying unconscious on the floor. Anakin’s combatants had not been so lucky, but the elder Jedi didn’t comment.

Anakin hung his lightsaber back on his belt. “We can’t waste time engaging in fights like this, otherwise we won’t live to see the next few hours.”

Shadday crossed her arms. “Do you have a suggestion?”

“Let’s contact the others. Get ahold of Arthree and tell him to unlock all the cells. We need to release the prisoners.”

The next few minutes were a tempest of chaos. As all of the cell doors opened, the alarm suddenly quieted for one tense and agonizing moment. The prisoners emerged from their cells slowly, unsure as they realized their newfound freedom.

“Hey!,” Draven shouted, cutting into the silence and pulling another blaster from his belt. All eyes were on him. He held the blaster above his head, surveying his audience. “This is a riot!,” he yelled, rearing the arm carrying the blaster back. “So _riot!”_ And he chucked the blaster into the crowd.

The prisoners instantaneously transformed into a screaming horde, tearing at each other for the gun. At that moment more stormtroopers arrived in the corridor, barely having time to aim their rifles before the mob charged them.

With their distraction set they escaped to the next level while Shadday caught up to Anakin. “What’s your plan now, Skywalker?,” she questioned, keeping pace beside him as they ran.

“Our only choice is to get to the bridge and find the commanding officer of this vessel. They’ll know where Bail is, and it looks like the bridge might be the only place left for the Senator to be anyway.”

“You do realize that that’s where Ignavus will likely be waiting for us?”

“The three of us can take him. Besides, we don't have much of a choice now.”

“I’ll notify the others,” she nodded, “and we can regroup.”

They had just reached the next floor, pushing through prisoners who were storming their way down to the lower levels. They were just below the bridge now, and Anakin could feel the darkness pouring out from above. He looked to Shadday and Draven. “It’s now or never,” he asserted.

They stepped into the turbolift and sped to the top.

Aayla notified them that they were making their way back up, but they had engaged a large force of troops, and didn’t know how fast they were going to be able to get to their position. Shadday was about to respond when her com unit began to buzz with static before abruptly cutting off.

“They’re jamming our communications.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think they’ve been monitoring us this whole time?”

Anakin scowled. “I think it’s safe to say they have,” he answered. “But I don’t think they’ll be able to overpower us.”

“Are you sure they won't use Organa as a bargaining chip?,” Draven inquired, resting a palm against the turbolift wall.

“Actually, I’m counting on it. He’s their insurance, so if we can just get him out of the line of fire, we can easily gain the upper hand.”

Shadday bit her lip. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured.

Before they knew it, they had reached the bridge. Draven withdrew a deadly looking DC-15 blaster pistol from his belt alongside the other DL pistol he already had equipped in his left hand. The Jedi both pulled their lightsabers from their hips, but kept them sheathed.

The doors opened.

Anakin could feel the chill more intensely now. It paled in comparison to the night of Palpatine’s death, but he perceived the danger all the same.

The three of them strode cautiously through the compact hallway that linked the turbolift lobby to the bridge. The sight of Coruscant through the station center’s enormous windows greeted them, as did a company of troops who were already waiting past the archway before them inside the control center. Behind them, Anakin noticed Tarkin, stationed in front of the main window, and at the center of the squad of soldiers, the source of the cold.

A tall figure, face obscured and covered in black, loomed before them. Sharp ridges defined the surface of the mask, which gleamed in the artificial light of the ship.

Anakin held his breath.

“Welcome, Jedi,” the creature rasped, the modulator within the faceplate warping his voice, robotasizing it. “You have no idea how pleased I am to see you. Though I am sure my guest’s excitement rivals my own.”

He stepped aside to reveal Bail on his knees just behind him, two troopers pressing rifles into the back of his neck. Dried blood caked a spot on his lower lip and a few rebellious strands of hair hung over his face. Hunched over, Bail lifted his head, with what looked to be some difficulty, to face his would-be rescuers. He immediately recognized Anakin, who could sense the relief and horror that clashed together within the senator. He supposed Bail was relieved to see him alive, yet highly alarmed that he had come back to Imperial space. Right back into the hands of the Emperor, no less.

Neither he nor Shadday gave the Sith the pleasure of a retort nor exclamation in response to the senator. Ignavus wordlessly motioned for the guards to pull Bail to his feet and drag him back to the small crowd of Imperial officers clustered beside Tarkin. Suddenly, the turbolift doors behind them opened once more, releasing another squad of troopers. A symphony of metallic clicking followed as their blasters were unlocked and set to kill.

“If you would join us,” Ignavus gestured to the interior of the bridge past the archway entrance.

The newly arrived troopers herded them into the bridge, forcing them to move closer to a patiently waiting Ignavus, who, without warning, seized Anakin’s lightsaber by way of the Force, drawing it into his grip. Shadday and Draven nearly retaliated, but the immediate aim of the rifles at their heads reminded them of their place. The Sith examined the weapon, trailing a finger from the saber’s tip down to the pommel cap, turning it over in the light. He stared back at Anakin for a moment, attaching his prize to his belt, his gaze never faltering.

“My master wishes to speak with you.”

Anakin felt himself go rigid, the blood in his veins growing cold.

After striking Palpatine down that night he had been in shambles. He knew the man had deceived him, groomed him, preyed upon his insecurities, fears, and aspirations for greater things, but the act had nearly broken him. His eyes had become wet, asking himself over and over what he had done, Mace standing above him as he crumpled to the floor. Palpatine had been one of his anchors, both to the dark and his own stability.

It hadn’t taken long to recover from the shock and self-hatred that accompanied his deed, but the ghost of Sidious had haunted him for some time after that. At the least, it had been disturbing to see Ventress again.

Anakin didn’t think he was prepared to face Palpatine.

Ignavus turned his back to them and knelt to place a holoprojector on the floor, activating it gingerly with a touch of his finger before swiftly resuming a kneeling position and bending his head down.

“Master.”

Fueling the frigid fire of Anakin’s ever-increasing dread, the dark, hooded image of the Emperor flickered into being, sitting upon an obsidian throne. Anakin could make out his gleaming eyes beneath the shadow of his cloak, but found he couldn’t look directly into them. He remained motionless, but steeled himself, clenching his fist.

_You’re stronger than him. He can’t control you ever again. And he never will._

He recited the words to himself again and again in that brief span of a few seconds, waiting with growing unease for Palpatine to say something.

“Hello, my friend.”

Anakin involuntarily flinched when he finally spoke, further unnerved when Palpatine smiled in perverse pleasure at his response. His voice was not fatherly and warm as it had been when Anakin was naive to his true nature. It sounded as if Palpatine’s throat had been mangled, his vocal cords twisted unnaturally and haphazardly reinserted into place. Like he was speaking through stones lodged in his windpipe. His words were dragged jaggedly upon splintered and coarse rock, echoing repulsively off of their sterile surroundings.

“You need not be fearful,” he drawled, sulfuric eyes drilling into Anakin’s soul. “Rest assured, I am aware of your . . . circumstances. I know who you are.”

Shadday and Draven’s attention drifted to Anakin, who was unmoving.

How much did Palpatine know? Was this what he had been planning all along? Did he engineer this world himself, and kill him before he could become a threat? But that didn’t make any sense. Palpatine had wanted to control Anakin, to _possess_ him, and use him as a tool of conquest. If he designed this timeline of events would he not have plucked him right from Shmi’s arms at the very beginning?

Anakin willed Quinlan and the others to get there faster.

“I can help you,” Palpatine continued, drawing out every word. “This is not the galaxy you know. Come to me and I will help you understand it, and reunite you with those you have lost.”

Before he could stop himself Anakin bit back. “It’s because of you that they are lost,” he glowered, now holding Palpatine’s stare.

The Sith didn’t flinch. “But only through me can you find them again.”

At that Ignavus tilted his head slightly, as if to glance up at his master out of the corner of his eye.

“The Jedi cannot help you. They were already dying, the war merely exacerbated their fall. Now they are little more than aimless and scattered vagabonds, clinging to broken ideals and a dead Republic. They have paid the price for their weakness.”

Anakin only continued to leer, refusing to show anything Palpatine might take as a sign of fragility.

The Emperor ignored his facade, and leaned forward in his throne, craning his neck down to observe Anakin like a vulture did a carcass. “Join me.” It wasn’t a request. But the young Jedi didn’t falter.

Ignavus was now staring at his master head on from his place at the foot of Palpatine’s throne.

“Join me and you can reclaim your place in the galaxy, save it from the tyranny and of disorder of the Jedi and their insignificant rebellion, and liberate the ones you love from bondage.”

Anakin blinked, eyes darting to his feet and Palpatine’s lip curled upwards darkly, knowing he had struck a chord.

“Join me and you will liberate yourself.” He smiled, reminiscent of the paternal expression he often showed to Anakin in his youth. “I will set you free.”

Anakin slowly returned his gaze from the floor, staring back at him. Shadday looked between him and Palpatine with uncertainty, her grip on her lightsaber tightening.

“You once told me the same thing a long time ago. That you had the power to save the people I cared about,” he recalled, not breaking his stare. His heart was pounding in his ears. “It was the last thing you said to me.”

Palpatine’s expression shifted subtly now, the lines on his face barely beginning to furrow with disapproval.

“Before I killed you.”

The Emperor’s brow now flared up in anger, straightening to his full height as the officers and soldiers gathered exchanged a collective murmur of horror that was immediately followed by a short-lived and suffocating silence.

“It would be wise of you to be mindful of your place, young Jedi,” Palpatine hissed, now rising from his seat. “For you do not realize the danger you are in. Or . . . perhaps you do. You have felt it haven’t you?”

Palpatine’s curious smile returned, and with it Anakin’s trepidation. “Felt what?,” he snapped, though deep down he realized he knew.

“You came into contact with the Terminus Sphaera, known colorfully to some as the Genesis Slaughterer.” His smile widened. “A spatial-temporal artifact designed to alter time around a person or an object.”

Anakin’s scowl deepened, he could feel the rage and resentment building towards the surface. He knew Palpatine was provoking him, but his feelings betrayed him nonetheless, much to the Sith’s satisfaction.

“It was immensely dangerous, and required a great deal of one’s own life force to activate. So much so that it would have killed anyone attempting to use it.” A knowing grinned formed cruelly on Palpatine’s face. “If one were already dying however . . .”

At that moment Anakin moved to lunge toward the hologram, Shadday and Draven barely reaching him in time to hold him back.

Ignavus remained motionless on the floor, his fists clenched now, but he made no move to react to Anakin’s outburst.

“What did you do?!,” he demanded, fighting against his friends’ grip. The durasteel plates that lined the walls began to creak, and one suddenly snapped with a sharp and sickening groan, clattering against the ground before a few more followed suit.

“Oh, my young friend,” Palpatine said with amusement, a darkly playful imitation of sympathy plastered across his face. “You poor fool.”

Anakin continued to struggle against Shadday and Draven, knowing he couldn’t fight them, but still too angry and afraid to stop.

“The Sphaera, if activated and then touched, will seize the Force signature of the one who has come into contact with it, erasing that presence within the Force wherever — and whenever — it has existed, effectively rewriting any and all events surrounding that person.”

Anakin stopped struggling, feeling himself go limp in his friends’ arms. His knees loosened and his shoulders sunk behind his arched back. He felt like he might have fallen if he wasn’t being held up.

_No._

“You took my life,” he whispered, the screeching and creaking of the walls coming to a halt, plunging them into a terrible and stifling silence.

Palpatine seized Anakin’s unsteady eyes, commanding him to see the truth, still smiling hauntingly.

“No, Skywalker,” he murmured, finally acknowledging him by name, “You gave it to me.”

Anakin sunk into the arms of his friends, becoming increasingly numb. He barely registered Palpatine’s words as he continued.

“You are dying. Soon enough you will be erased from existence entirely.” A sudden viciousness infiltrated his voice and he lowered, capturing Anakin’s gaze and trapping him within it. “Only I can save you.”

He was breathing heavily now, eyes still locked with Palpatine’s. Anakin was suddenly transported back to the Chancellor’s office, standing between Mace and Palpatine, lightning crackling and curling around him, the latter telling him all the things he wanted to hear. This time however, it seemed like the Sith was giving him the truth. He was staring at Anakin hungrily, bearing down on him from his throne.

Anakin’s thoughts drifted to Padmé, as they always did when he found himself in doubt. She was still out there somewhere. He gently removed himself from Shadday and Draven’s grip, both of them glancing at one another in uncertainty.

Palpatine gazed at Anakin expectantly, who slowly raised his prosthetic hand, holding his palm open before his face. Without warning, he suddenly clenched his gloved fist, destroying the holoprojector through the Force, throwing one last glare at the Sith, who rose furiously before his image dissolved into static and then disappeared.

Taking advantage of the state of shock, Anakin swiftly pulled his lightsaber from Ignavus’s belt, igniting it as it flew through the air back into his grip. The Sith apprentice stood immediately, activating his own double-bladed crimson saber as the stormtroopers turned their blasters on the Jedi. Shadday brandished her own emerald sword and Draven raised his pistols, firing at the troopers holding Bail before they had a chance to react.

Ignavus twirled the hilt of his lightsaber before leaping to strike Anakin from above. Shadday reached his side just as the Sith came crashing down, each of them bearing the weight of one the blades.

Bail had picked up one of the fallen trooper’s blasters, swiftly grabbing one of the officers behind him and holding it to his head to keep the other soldiers from firing. Draven used the distraction to shoot them down while Bail watched them fall regretfully, but his grip on the officer didn’t soften. The general ran back to help the Jedi while Bail turned and eyed Tarkin carefully, who had an unreadable expression on his face. He guessed it was somewhere between shock, humiliation and outrage, but he didn’t take the time to contemplate it. Bail tightened his hold over the officer’s neck, and pointed the gun at the governor. He spoke with a coldness he didn’t realize he was capable of.

“Re-open the comm channel. Now.”

Ignavus fought with an untamed savagery, aggressively stabbing at every opening that was created at either Anakin or Shadday’s chests. The two of them jointly shoved him backwards with a Force push in an attempt to unbalance him while Draven fired at his head. Succumbing to the wave of intangible pressure, Ignavus deftly deactivated his saber and rolled to escape the blaster fire, back on his feet before Draven could blink.

Anakin stormed him, cutting at his center in a decisive slice, just barely being blocked by Ignavus’s parry as his saber was reignited. Shadday flipped over the both of them, trying to strike the Sith apprentice from behind while he was preoccupied with upholding his defenses against Anakin. She was slightly too late however, and Ignavus spun to weasel himself out from Anakin’s barrage of slashes, leaving Shadday’s saber to accidentally strike her fellow Jedi’s.

Draven again fired at the Sith’s back, only to have the blaster bolt reflected back at him effortlessly, grazing his upper arm. He screamed, clutching the wound and dropping both blasters.

Ignavus turned back towards his opponents. “You fight against the inevitable, Jedi. This battle is futile. Surrender now.”

Shadday held her head high, raising her saber up and casting her face in a viridescent glow. “Never,” she said. Anakin shifted into a traditional Djem So combat stance, similarly raising his blade.

Ignavus tilted his head. “Very well then. I will grant you a warrior’s death.”

In a flash he lunged for them, outstretching his arms to spin his saber to cut into them both in a flurry of lacerations. Quickly dodging, they surrounded either side of him, closing the distance between the apprentice and themselves.

Within their close proximity to their adversary, the lengthy double-blade became a disadvantage, and Ignavus was forced on the defensive once more. Their sabers cut into the floor as they crashed into each other, sending sparks flying in all directions and scarring the steel beneath their feet. Shadday managed to land a blow against Ignavus’s shin, momentarily throwing him off for long enough that Anakin could push him back with another powerful drive of his sword.

He drew his saber above his head to strike the final blow when he suddenly felt as if his head was being held underwater, the air escaping his lungs only to be replaced by a flood.

_Oh no._

Against his will, his body caved in on itself, once more being struck by an immense and indescribable pain. He gasped as he plummeted to the floor, feeling as though he had been run through with his own blade, nerve endings burning and bones becoming heavy.

“Skywalker!,” Shadday cried.

The next few seconds passed by like an eternity as events around him began to move in slow motion.

Ignavus rose over his crumbled form, and to Anakin’s horror, spun without hesitation to skewer his blade through the other Jedi’s stomach.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Shadday’s eyes widened, staring back at Anakin before Ignavus sheathed his saber and she fell to the ground, dead by the time she got there.

“ _Shadday!_ ,” a screech infused with shock and grief rang in Anakin’s ears, and he faintly recognized Aayla’s voice, harshly contorted by anguish. The others had finally reached them, and before Ignavus could engage Quinlan and Aayla they thrust him into the enormous bridge window, cracking the transparisteel and giving Bail time to grab Draven and run.

Beginning to seize again, Anakin felt two pairs of arms lift his immobile and trembling body, rushing him to the turbolift as he began to slip from consciousness.

“Tonra, set off the bomb! _Set it off now, Tonra!”_

The ship was engulfed by a terrible quake, another moan wracking the structure as more explosions could be heard below.

The last thing Anakin saw was Bail still aiming a blaster at Tarkin’s head and Ignavus rising to brush shattered transparisteel from his shoulders, holding his now blurring stare.

Then the lift doors shut, as did his eyes, Shadday’s face flickering in his mind before he blacked out, dead to the world.

* * *

The escaped prisoners were now tearing the barge apart, overpowering the guards and escaping en masse on the ships that hadn’t been blown to pieces when _The Andrasha_ had crashed barely an hour before. Tonra notified Aayla that he was waiting for them on a Kappa-class shuttle on the lower deck, but he couldn’t defend it from the horde of prisoners much longer, especially now that a fire was spreading from where he had detonated the bomb.

“We’re coming as fast as we can!,” she replied, glancing back at the unconscious Anakin, who was being carried by Blitz and Quinlan.

Dodging falling debris and a pursuing squad of stormtroopers as they stepped out of the turbolift, Aayla herded the others to the shuttle, protecting their flank from stray blaster bolts fired in their direction.

Reaching the ship moments after her comrades she shouted, “That’s everyone, go, go, _go!”,_ gesturing for Tonra to take off.

He obeyed immediately, shooting out of the hangar into open space, nearly colliding with other fleeing ships and jettisoning escape pods. Quickly inputting the coordinates, Tonra launched the shuttle into hyperspace, leaving Coruscant and the prison barge far behind them.

Finally, they allowed themselves to catch their breaths. Bail leaned against the wall and sunk to the floor, breathing laboriously and cupping his head in his hands. Ventress helped Blitz and Quinlan lower Anakin’s body next to him, and Bail looked up to observe the young man’s face. He wondered if they would ever be able to meet without him being unconscious.

Quinlan supported Anakin’s neck and head against his stomach, sitting with his legs out to create a wall around the younger Jedi. Aayla made her way over to inspect him, pressing a palm to his forehead.

“How is he?,” Quinlan croaked as Aayla removed her hand.

The Twi’lek frowned. “He seems to have a high temperature, and I can sense some neurological disturbance. I don’t know what we can do for him though.”

Bail heaved, leaning forward. “He survived worse when he crashed into my speeder,” he asserted, “He’ll live.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

Bail turned his head to face Draven, who was slouched against the other wall, caressing his blaster wound. “You heard what the Emperor said.”

Aayla stood with a start, looking between the senator and the general. “The Emperor? He was there?”

Quinlan and Ventress shared a look.

“Only through a holoprojector,” Draven grunted, his eyes lowering to Anakin’s sleeping form. “He told him about the device that brought him here, that it would eventually kill him. That’s why he’s sick.”

Aayla, Ventress and Quinlan shared a concerned glance.

“Wait a minute,” Ventress began, “Brought him from where?”

Quinlan patted her arm before resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “I promise I’ll fill you in on all the details.” He attempted a smile, but found all he could do to reassure her was squeeze her shoulder warmly and pull her in closer. She accepted the gesture thankfully, putting her own hand over his. For once, Quinlan didn’t want to speak. He didn’t think he had it in him.

“Senator?,” Aayla had allowed herself to sit now, planting herself a few feet from Bail and the others.

“Yes, Master Secura?,” he asked, straightening out of habit as all attention was focused on him.

“Did the Empire manage to get any information out of you when you were in custody?”

Bail sighed. “Thankfully no. It seemed that after three days of interrogations yielded no results they didn’t even bother to have Ignavus pick through my mind.”

Aayla looked impressed. “You held out well.”

“Well, I learned a few tricks from you Jedi after all these years.” His lip tilted upwards.

Aayla smiled softly. They both knew he was talking about Obi-Wan.

Tonra trudged in from the cockpit then, hovering by the door. He nodded curtly to Aayla and Draven. “The coordinates for Dantooine are in the navcomputer,” he informed them. “It looks like we—” He stopped, blinking rapidly as he conducted a silent headcount. “Where is Master Potkin?”

The quiet was an answer clear as day, Tonra’s suspicions confirmed when Aayla and Quinlan’s gazes fell to the floor. “Oh no . . .” he murmured, clasping his hands together and shaking his head. “I’m so sorry,” he lamented.

Ayla only nodded. “She is one with the Force now.”

That was what the Jedi had taught her. The words felt hollow now.

Before the mournful silence could settle in, Anakin stirred against Quinlan’s chest, the older Jedi laying him back further slowly as he groaned. He opened his eyelids as far as his strength allowed him, which wasn’t much, as his awakening drew a congregation.

“Skywalker?” Aayla’s hand returned to Anakin’s forehead, contrasting noticeably against his pale and waxy skin. He breathed shakily and Quinlan cradled his head more gently, sparing one hand to sympathetically rub his arm.

Anakin felt like he might throw up.

“I — I’m—,” he was interrupted by a wince and Aayla cupped his cheek before lying her palm upon his shoulder. “Don’t speak,” she told him, internally urging him to go back to sleep.

Anakin tried again. “I’m sorry,” he choked, beginning to feel dizzy, “I’m sorry. Jocasta — she told me I shouldn’t go.” He was cut off by the need to breathe. “I — I’m dying.”

Aayla shook her head. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she assured him. “Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

She knew by looking at his face that he didn’t believe her, but he made no argument, sinking deeper into Quinaln’s hold. “Is Senator Organa . . .” he didn’t have the strength to finish his sentence.

Bail leaned forward to reach Anakin’s line of sight. “I’m alright,” he smiled faintly, but gratefully.

“I never got to thank you, Senator,” the Jedi rasped, doing his best to smile back.

Bail released a warmhearted sigh. “It is I who should be thanking you, my friend. I owe you a great deal.”

But Anakin’s eyes were already closing again, and they watched silently as sleep reclaimed him, his frail form slumped against Quinlan, so still he may have seemed dead.

* * *

Ignavus held the slain Jedi’s lightsaber up to his master in a presentation of pride, compensation, and reverence. Or something in between all three.

His offering of his cut down opponent’s weapon was eerily reminiscent of the way a feline presented its owner with a dead rat, with inherent smugness and desire for reward.

Unlike a cat however, the apprentice was all too eager to please.

“The Jedi’s lightsaber, my lord,” the kneeling Ignavus proffered, raising the hilt out to his master a bit higher.

“You are quite misguided, apprentice, if you believe that this makes up for your failure,” Sidious hissed, making no motion to accept Ignavus’s prize. “I am loath to tolerate your attempts to distract me from your inability to accomplish a simple task.”

The apprentice faltered for a moment, the lightsaber tightening in his grip, before he got to his feet defiantly, blocking his master’s view of Imperial Center’s skyline. The lights of passing traffic created a faint halo framing his figure.

He jabbed an accusatory finger at Sidious. “You want to replace me!,” he barked. “With that _Jedi!”_ His pronunciation of the word was coated in malice and disgust, proof of his horror and fury that his master desired such a lowly being over him. “I will not be tossed aside like some pathetic fool! I am power, I am a Sith, I am—”

His rant was prematurely ended by invisible hands around his throat. Ignavus’s feet departed from the floor as his lungs suffocated, his body twitching erratically in panic and fear.

“You,” Sidious leaned forward from his seat, coming into the light so his apprentice could see him face to face, “are _nothing_.” He released his hold and Ignavus crumpled at his master’s feet, coughing violently.

“But you — you said,” he trembled as he staggered to support himself, “You told me —”

“In that Jedi’s blood runs the will of the Force. He is something greater than you or I. And I will need him to further my plans.”

Ignavus was back on his knees now, hands splayed out on the floor before him, still recovering from the elder Sith’s attack.

“He will join us, or he will die. Whatever he chooses, the Jedi and their allies will still perish, though I would prefer that you bring him to me. Alive.” Sidious eyed his apprentice with scorn as he continued to pant at his feet. “Time is both an ally and an adversary. You will go to Ryloth with Governor Tarkin and Colonel Yularen. Intelligence has reported that a Jedi is occupying the planet along with a division of rebel forces. Root them out. Find the locations of their remaining bases. Kill the Jedi.”

Sidious scowled as his apprentice rose to a submissive stance, head bowed in shame and obedience.

“Then, perhaps you will be rewarding of recognition,” he snarled, “Now, leave my presence.”

Ignavus obeyed, stalking out of the Emperor’s chambers.

Storming out to what had once been the entrance staircase to the Jedi Temple, below where the statues of the Four Masters had stood not so long ago, Ignavus stared out over the infinite city’s horizon. At what he had been promised.

A new zealousness consumed him as the sun finally disappeared behind the bottomless skyscrapers.

Whatever it took, he was going to find his rival. And end him.

* * *

  
  



	11. Old Friends

The dull hum of hyperspace faded into white noise as the ship continued its journey to Dantooine. Being a military shuttle the Kappa had very few accommodations as far as comfort went, so they were forced to lie Anakin upon a few spare empty shipping containers, sitting his head under Quinlan’s robe. He hadn’t stirred in over three hours, and in that time they had sent a brief message back to the base that they were on their way. They kept it short in case the transmission was discovered, ordering the council not to contact them back lest the signal be tracked through their stolen vessel.

Afterwards, they had filled Ventress in on the details of Anakin’s story, sharing with her how he had come from a galaxy that starkly contrasted their own, though they had admitted that the extent of what they knew about that world was limited. She was staring at him now from across the ship’s cabin, sitting with the Jedi and clones while Draven was with Tonra in the cockpit.

“I think we must know each other,” she said, after they had finished explaining everything. “I could tell he recognized me, even though I didn’t recognize him.” She turned back to them. “I wonder . . .” she trailed off.

Quinlan’s voice was barely audible. “He was a slave, you know,” he informed her, not quite meeting her eyes.

Ventress glanced back at Anakin for a moment.

_Perhaps that was how they were acquainted._

She pressed her eyebrows together. “On Rattatak?,” she asked, squinting.

Quinlan lightly shook his head. “On Tatooine,” he answered quietly, now holding her stare. “Born into it.”

Ventress didn’t ask how he knew, only tilting her head back to gaze at the sleeping Jedi. It was then that Draven returned to the cabin, following the Nightsister’s line of sight.

“Is he doing any better?,” he inquired, coming to stand next to where they were all seated on the floor.

Aayla exhaled. “His fever has died down, but it seems like his body is still recovering from some kind of breakdown. His mind feels clouded, highly stressed. You said he suffered a seizure?”

Draven crossed his arms. “That’s what it looked like. He just collapsed. One minute he was fine, the next —,” he gestured to Anakin’s body, “he was on the ground.” Draven knelt down so he could be at eye level with them before continuing. “The Emperor told him that whatever brought him here was killing him.”

Aayla blinked rapidly, disturbed, and immediately stood to go press her hand against Anakin’s forehead again. It was no longer so hot, but waves of nausea and pain were rolling off of him bitterly in the Force, and Aayla had to pull back before they could overwhelm her. She grimaced with the knowledge that there was nothing she could do but try to project calm and alleviating energy, and hope that that would be of some comfort to him in his sleep.

“What else did Sidious tell you?,” she murmured, slowly advancing back to the others.

Bail’s neck folded as he relinquished the weight of his head, staring into his lap prior to answering. “He wanted your friend, that much was clear.”

Aayla nodded; that was the reason they had stationed the senator on the prison barge in the first place, and she was sure he knew that. She wondered what lengths the Sith would go to now to retrieve Skywalker.

“But he did reveal the name of the artifact you mentioned that he said had brought him here,” Bail continued. “He called it the Terminus Sphaera. It’s a machine that supposedly erases whoever touches it from history, creating a new timeline in place of the old one.”

Quinlan sat up, eyes widened. “That’s why the Sith are in power!,” he exclaimed, visibly agitating the ears of his tired comrades, though that didn’t seem to faze him. “Don’t you see? He said he killed Sidious at the end of the war, which for him was three years ago. For us it’s been two; the war dragged on because _he_ ,” the Kiffar motioned dramatically behind him, “wasn’t there. The Chosen One was never born. That’s why the Jedi and Republic fell.”

The members of the group looked thoughtfully amongst one another, digesting Bail’s news and Quinlan’s conclusion.

“A Chosen One shall come, born of no father, and through him will ultimate balance in the Force be restored,” Quinlan recited. “I’d say his story fits the bill.”

It was then that said Chosen One began to rustle, releasing a heavy groan as he began to awaken. Aayla once again got to her feet, followed by her former master. Reaching Anakin’s side, they bent down as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and awareness returned to him. He groaned, drawing a hand to his temple and tried to lean forward, placing his weight on his elbows.

“Skywalker,” Aayla gently greeted, relieved to see him awake. “Welcome back. How do you feel?”

Anakin took a few more deep breaths before responding, in that time fully sitting up and draping his legs over the shipping crates as Ventress, Bail, and Draven joined them. He was vaguely aware of the clones sitting respectfully on the other side of the cabin, their helmets seated next to them.

“Where am I?,” he questioned, still feeling lightheaded.

“We’re on a troop transport ship,” Aayla answered. “We’re headed back to Dantooine. You’ve been asleep for the past couple of hours.”

That was when memories of their mission came surging back to him, the senator’s rescue, the fight with the Sith, and Shadday’s death, slamming into him with brutal recollection. Anakin’s hand went back to his head to meet the oncoming ache, sighing miserably.

“I let you all down,” he murmured, feeling the bile creeping up his throat.

To his surprise, Draven spoke up. “It wasn’t your fault,” he asserted, “You can't hold yourself responsible for something that wasn’t in your control.”

 _Yes I can_ , Anakin bit back internally. _She’d still be alive if it weren’t for me._

Ventress sensed his guilt. “You can’t save everyone,” she said, her face sympathetic, tinged with regret. “Believe me,” her voice was thick with grief, “I wish that weren’t the case.”

Anakin didn’t have the energy to argue, and given it was Asajj Ventress who was trying to comfort him was throwing him off quite a bit more than he would have liked to admit. He sighed again, trying to stand before giving up as his legs nearly gave way, and instead he chose to return to the floor, using the one of the crates to support his back. “I know,” he accepted as the others knelt down to join him, still giving him some space. “Tell me,” he began, not wanting to ask the question nor dwell on the events of their excursion, but recognizing painfully that he needed to know, “who is Darth Ignavus?”

Aayla breathed sharply, shaking her head and furrowing her brow. “Truthfully, we’re not sure,” she answered, returning to Anakin’s unsure expression. “He’s Sidious’s newest apprentice, Dooku’s replacement.” Ventress shifted at the mention of her old master, but said nothing. “He appeared at the end of the war, after Dooku had been killed.”

Anakin strained to sit up. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted, “how did Dooku die?”

Aayla shared a look with Ventress and Quinlan. They all silently supposed he had something to do with it as far as his memory of events was concerned.

“His dreadnought crashed on Seoul V,” she explained, “They were fired on by their own ships. Both he and Grievous were killed.”

Anakin’s eyes flitted rapidly as he realized what Aayla’s words truly meant.

 _Fired on by their own ships._ A neat little way for Palpatine to wrap up loose ends. He could have ended the war anytime he wanted, at a whim. He had only been waiting to unravel Anakin at his most vulnerable, allowing the bloodshed and loss to wear him down, taunting him with Padmé’s life hanging in the balance, amassing more and more power in all that time.

He recalled Dooku’s death, knowing cruelly, and forever haunted by the fact, how the act had brought him to the brink. He remembered Palpatine’s smile, goading him to strike the former Jedi down and shuddered. They didn’t need to know that story, how close he really was to the edge.

“I see,” was all he could say.

“Ignavus’s mission is to hunt down all surviving Jedi,” Quinlan continued, picking up where Aayla left off. “He first led the troopers into the Temple when it was sacked during the Purge, and he’s all but finished the job,” he said darkly. “We don’t know who he really is, but it’s likely he’s a fallen Jedi.”

“You really don’t have any idea who he could be?,” Anakin asked, his voice gravelly.

Ventress and Quinlan shook their heads. “No,” Aayla answered, her eyes dropping to the floor. “We could ask ourselves over and over how Jedi fall. Whether for power, out of fear, hatred. They only lead to our own suffering, but I suppose at a pivotal moment,” she paused, breathing shallowly, “that can be difficult to see.”

Anakin noticed Quinlan holding the Nightsister’s hands, cupping them in a protective embrace as if they were made from glass, and could shatter the moment he let go.

 _If that night had gone differently_ , Anakin wondered, the thought traitorously crossing his mind, _What would I have forced Obi-Wan to question? Where would we be?_ He didn’t want to consider where those doubts might lead him, and Anakin abandoned the train of thought, banishing the possibilities and bad dreams to a cavern deep within himself. _That disn't happen. And never will._

They were left in the silence, the coldness of space infiltrating the atmosphere and chilling each of them. The first voyage Anakin had any memory of was the journey from Tatooine to Coruscant, when he had discovered just how numbing and bitter space travel was. It wasn’t just space, however, where he found the temperature adjustment challenging. It seemed wherever he went, Anakin was cold, whether that was from the inside or out, he was never sure. But it appeared that since leaving the sight of the twin suns, of his mother, Anakin had been pervaded by a constant shiver, seeping through his veins and into his heart. Padmé had kept the cold at bay, and it seemed that his children had melted it away entirely, but now he thought he could feel it creeping back in, twisting jaggedly in his chest and weighing down his body like a stone. Despair, dense with loss and anxiety, descended.

He had to get out of his head.

“Ventress,” Anakin faltered, cutting through the quiet. Ventress looked up to him, the somber shadow in her eyes replaced by quizzicality. “I wanted to ask. Why were you on Tatooine?” She raised her eyebrows. Anakin guessed she must have been expecting a different question, but he could see the understanding that settled into her expression, and they both realized what the other already knew.

“We have a base there,” she started, and Anakin wasn’t surprised to hear that. Tatooine was far in the Outer Rim, not to mention territory of the Hutts. Imperial presence there would be minimal at the most; the Republic had been nonexistent. What Ventress said next however, caught him off guard.

“I was working with abolitionists who are fighting to liberate the planet of Hutt and Imperial control,” she explained. Anakin was feeling much more awake.

“Abolitionists?”

Tatooine had always harbored abolitionist groups; many of its inhabitants besides outlaws and smugglers were descendants of or freed slaves. There was intent among the populous, although a it was very small fraction, to fight against the scourge of slavery, but any outspoken advocates were soon staring down the barrel of a blaster. Assasination was a frequently utilized weapon of Jabba, as it was among many Hutts, and the fact of the matter was that many people on Tatooine didn’t have the luxury of caring about one another. They were trying to survive themselves. For the slaves, one another was all they had, but they were not a unified force, they were uneducated, and easily controlled through fear and threat of violence. They were all carrying bombs in their bodies, after all.

The last time Anakin had visited Tatooine had been nearly a year after Jabba’s death and the intensifying slave riots that had occurred shortly after he was killed. The Hutt’s demise left a significant power vacuum. By that time, many slaveholders, frightened by ever-boldening and organized abolitionist forces, had freed their slaves, though there was considerable violent resistance to the movement, especially since the freedom fighters had been perceived by a great many as terrorists. But that was the culture; there were those who served and those who were served. No matter how sickening it was, those in power would fight bitterly to keep it.

There was no law in the desert, but the amount of bloodshed, which was quickly brought to attention by Padmé in the Senate after Anakin had notified her of the situation, necessitated intervention, and a small company of clone troopers, as well as Obi-Wan and Mace were sent to introduce diplomacy. It was amazing that the Republic had even stepped in at all, given that Tatooine had no real economic value, but it was proof that their government was moving back on the right path, if not little by little. Corruption was rampant, but war and its revelations seemed to have had an enlightening effect on many politicians, and with Chancellor Mothma leading the Senate, they were encouraged by moral responsibility, rather than greed.

Tatooine eventually became a pseudo-satellite of the Republic, a colony of sorts. The slave trade was being cracked down on already in other systems, and Republic law was implemented to create a sense of order. Officials worked with leaders of some of the anti-slavery organizations to gain political control of more major cities, like Mos Eisley, Bestine, and Mos Espa, which was the planet’s de facto capital. Violence and lawlessness were still commonplace — Tatooine would not be a pushover in the face of a radical cultural shift — but the removal of the Hutts and Republic military presence helped to somewhat quell the disorder. Anakin wondered what had become of his home planet now.

“There are several underground anti-slavery coalitions on Tatooine,” Ventress explained. “They help us hide political enemies of the Empire, and many of the freed slaves join the rebellion. Once they’re emancipated from tyranny they make it their mission to fight against it.”

Anakin blinked, overcome by an ambiguous sentiment. “You free the slaves . . . but —”

“I don’t do it to boost our ranks,” she cut him off, knowing where he was headed. “I do it because it’s right. Because I have the power to put a stop to it. Because no should have to suffer,” she inhaled, pausing, making sure he could read her gaze, “the way we have suffered.”

Her quiet confession shifted something inside him. Anakin had never known Ventress was a slave, though it wasn’t as if he ever had really been interested in learning anything about her. They were enemies, their hatred of one another encouraged by the war and vastly conflicting ideals. He realized that both of them had been pawns of Sidious in one way or another, and in a stunning moment of revelation he recognized the strength Ventress must have had to break the hold the Dark Side had over her.

He wanted to say something, to acknowledge what it meant to him what she was doing. That she was fighting for the one thing he had desired to since Qui-Gon had broken his shackles. He opened his mouth to end the silence between them, when the ship suddenly let out a deafening howl, lurching forward and sending them all rolling back into the wall.

Aayla staggered up, running towards the cockpit when the door slid open. Tonra was gripping the shuttle’s controls for dear life, trying to stabilize their course. “We’re caught in an interdiction field!,” he yelled, “Hold on, we’re entering realspace!”

“Who would plant a gravity well this far out?,” Quinlan exclaimed, another reel of the ship throwing him back to the floor before he could stand.

The glow of the stars passing by in hyperspace faded, and the lights became stagnant as the shuttle came to a halt with a grating moan. The engines continued to whine in the standstill as everyone finally stumbled to their feet. Aayla turned to Tonra, still bracing herself against the cockpit entrance doorway. “Do you think this is an Imperial trap?,” she asked, her grip on the door loosening.

Tonra rose from his seat, making his way to the Jedi Master. “I don’t think so,” he shook his head, “They would have had to have planted that in record time, and we’re on a lightly-traveled hyperspace lane. I doubt the Empire would have been able to track our position so easily.”

A loud snap sounded as the shuttle gave another creak. Aayla looked up in alarm before turning back to her companions. “We’re being boarded!”

She and Quinlan simultaneously ignited their lightsabers while Bail, Draven and Tonra all pulled out their blasters. Ventress put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Hand me your saber,” she said. He was about to hesitate, but realized how much it was taking out of him to simply stand, and complied. She accepted his weapon with a nod, quickly brandishing the beam of light. The creaking started then started again, followed by a small explosion that sent a chunk of the ceiling crashing to the floor with a stream of smoke and sparks.

Cautiously, they inched toward where there was now a gaping hole in the shuttle roof, Anakin and Bail hanging slightly back. Almost immediately a figure dropped down through the opening, vaguely obscured by the smoke. Before anyone could speak, let alone cock a blaster, another body arrived, plummeting into the other with a hearty grunt, squishing his companion beneath him. A fit of coughing followed as the smoke began to dissipate, and the second figure drew himself to his feet, seemingly unperturbed, or maybe just ignorant, of the hostile company surrounding him. He patted the dust and ashes out of his coat, coughing again. “That’s the last time I go hopping through holes in starships,” the figure huffed to himself, and with a start Anakin realized he recognized the voice.

The smoke had finally cleared as more men clambered from the breach, all Weequayans. The others stumbled back somewhat as more pirates filtered in from above, encircling their leader. Anakin gaped, Hondo Ohnaka standing before him with a pleasantly surprised expression on his face, seemingly both amused and elated to have encountered them. The pirate smiled gleefully, half-heartedly waving the few traces of fumes out of his face. “Jedi!,” he exclaimed, breaking into backslapping laughter and then into another short fit of coughing. Everyone was still.

“Ah,” Hondo said, clearing his throat and taking in his surroundings as if looking for someone in particular when he spotted Bail. “Oh, Senator! A pleasure to see you!” He threw his arms up in the air, rushing over to the Alderaanian senator, whom Hondo was now enthusiastically patting on the shoulder. “You look worse for wear, my friend,” he observed. Bail was speechless.

Aayla stepped forward, her lightsaber still activated. “Excuse me,” she declared. A few of the pirates aimed their blasters at her as she approached the captain. Hondo spun to face her, looking quickly between the Twi’lek Jedi and his crew. He waved his head at them languidly.

“Put those things down,” he drawled, “We are in the company of friends.” Hondo placed his hands on his hips and Aayla deactivated her lightsaber, Quinlan and Ventress following suit, the latter begrudgingly so. Draven shot Aayla a look, his blaster still clenched tightly in his hand, but she just narrowed her eyes in return. The general reluctantly deposited the pistol back into his belt holster, the clones and Tonra already having done the same.

“I cannot say I expected to find Jedi out here,” Hondo mused, slowly making his way around the circle to reach Aayla. “Tell me,” his smile grew, curiosity evident in his eyes, “what were you all up to?

“What were you up to planting artificial gravity wells in hyperspace lanes,?” Ventress spoke up, scrunching her nose at the pirate. Hondo began to laugh again and shook his head.

“Business is slower these days. Imperial patrols make it difficult to eh, how do you say —”

“Raid ships and their cargo?” Ventress raised an eyebrow.

“I prefer not to phrase it that way,” he retorted, placing a hand over his chest, “I am an honest businessman.” Ventress’s expression remained the same. Hondo shrugged, “Anyway. You know how it is. Business is business. I actually thought when I saw it I could sell this ship to the rebels I keep hearing about, but I suppose they are already in possession of it.” He smiled. “What’s say we let bygones be bygones, hmm?”

Anakin, dumbfounded, and still feeling sick, just stared straight ahead at the Weequay. Ventress didn’t look impressed. “So you plan to just take off after blowing a hole in our ship and leaving us at the mercy of the vacuum of space?” Hondo rolled his eyes and bent his head, pressing a few fingers to his forehead.

“You know,” he began, “I once had a friend who was a Jedi, and for all the trouble he gave me, I think you might be giving me more.”

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. “Obi-Wan?”

Hondo suddenly whipped his head around as everyone else focused their attention on him. “You know Kenobi?” Hondo’s smile quickly returned and soon he was giving Anakin the same greeting he had given to Bail. He started to laugh again. “Any friend of Kenobi is a friend of mine,” he declared, and Anakin felt his nausea melting away.

“We _all_ know him,” Ventress muttered, crossing her arms. Quinlan simply patted her on the back sympathetically.

Hondo huffed cordially. “Tell me, how is Kenobi? Gray yet?”

Anakin’s face fell somewhat. “Actually,” he began, his voice quiet, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” It wasn’t the exact truth, but it was all he could think to say. Hondo’s expression became neutral, his smile wiped clean.

“Ah,” he said, the sound in his throat rough, “I see. But if I know Kenobi, he’s tough enough to hold his own.” Anakin was nonplussed by the sympathy blooming on Hondo’s face. “You will see each other again soon. I am sure of it.”

Anakin gave him a weak attempt at a smile. The pirate then clapped his hands together, his confident bearing back once more. “Now then!,” he declared, “I can’t just leave you all to, uh, what was it again?” He shot a glance at Ventress, still wearing her deadpan. “Ah that’s it! The mercy of the vacuum of space.” Hondo was looking very pleased with himself. “In apology for your ship, I will _personally_ take you to wherever you need to go. Where are you headed?”

“Dantooine,” Draven answered matter-of-factly, still looking on edge.

Hondo faltered. “Oh, ah — Dantooine, you say? Well, I would, but you see, that system is crawling with Imperials.”

“What?,” Aayla was alert now, Anakin felt the jolt of fear that ran through her, noticing how it passed through the others a split-second later. “How long have they been there? _Why_ are they there? Do you know?”

“From what I hear the Empire is interested in setting up an industrial base in the Outer Rim,” Hondo answered.

Aayla’s eyes flitted from the floor to her comrades and then back to Hondo again. “It doesn’t sound like they’ve discovered us then,” she concluded, looking to her old master. “Captain, we need to make a transmission from your ship. We have to warn the alliance of the Imperial presence in the system.”

Hondo rubbed a thumb against his chin. “Come, come then,” he said after a moment, “We should not linger.”

“Wait a minute,” Anakin called, cutting Hondo’s exit short. “We have one more favor to ask. The Empire will know the ship we escaped on, and they could trace us from the shuttle. As soon as we get aboard, blow it to smithereens. They’ll think we were ambushed by pirates; they’ll be able to detect the traces of the gravity well and assume the worst. At the least it’ll buy us some time.”

Anakin thought he heard Ventress mutter under her breath that they _were_ ambushed by pirates, but Hondo paid her no mind. He nodded in affirmation. “I like your thinking, Jedi. This venture may no longer be profitable,” he sighed, “but I am always happy to see some fireworks, haha!”

* * *

It wasn't long before Hondo’s crew made short work of the Kappa shuttle, having enthusiastically blown it to pieces. Before reentering hyperspace Aayla had privately contacted Jocasta and the other counselors to warn them of Imperial activity in the system. They were waiting for her back on the bridge with Hondo when she returned from just outside the hall about twenty minutes later.

“So,” Quinlan began, leaning against one of the consoles, “what’s the situation?”

Aayla’s gaze was stern. “I notified them of our status and that we have Senator Organa. I also told them what the Emperor revealed to you, that we encountered Ignavus, and that we lost Shadday.” Her forehead creased for a moment before her expression adjusted itself again. Anakin remained still, his eyes glued to the floor.

“But they had received intelligence reports that Imperials were in the system, and the evacuation plan is already in full swing. They’re relocating to Lehon,” Aayla continued.

Goji tilted his head. “In the Unknown Regions? Are they sure they’ll be any safer there?”

“Lehon is a deserted world,” Aayla answered. “They wouldn’t have chosen to hide there if the peril was greater there than on Dantooine.”

Hondo sauntered forward, inserting himself into their circle. “Shall we set a course for Lehon then?”

“Actually, we need to find the other Jedi Masters stationed on Outer Rim planets that we’ve lost contact with,” Aayla said. “Madame Jocasta told me that Coleman Kcaj was on Ryloth, but communications have recently been interrupted. However, Master Oppo Rancisis is nearby on the planet Socorro, or at least as far as we know. If we can find him, we can inform him that the central base position has been compromised, and he may be able to tell us the current whereabouts of Master Kcaj.”

“Ah!,” Hondo exclaimed excitedly. “Socorro is one of my most favorite places in the galaxy!”

Quinlan’s posture straightened with mirth, his expression mirroring the captain’s. “Me too!,” he piped. Draven didn’t look amused.

Hondo lowered his voice in jest, holding a hand up beside his mouth as if he was telling a secret. “Especially since the Empire is so loath to set foot there,” he uttered.

Draven rolled his eyes. “One might even say there’s a lack of any government at all,” he grumbled.

“I know!,” Hondo cried, “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“If there’s a dark spot in the galaxy, Socorro sits on its behind,” the general huffed, his frown clearly showcasing his disapproval. “I wouldn’t go to that smuggler’s den for any number of credits.”

“We don’t have much of a choice at the moment,” Aayla told him. She turned to Hondo. “Captain, would you be able to get us there?” Hondo rubbed his palms together. “Of course, Master Jedi, though I assume there wouldn’t be any compensation for our ferry?” Aayla looked between him and her companions. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of bartering chips, Captain. Besides, you’ve already destroyed our ship.”

Hondo observed her for a moment before breaking out into a smile again. “Fine, fine, fine,” he relented, “I guess I can consider this an owed favor. And of course we have a mutual friend.” The end of Aayla’s lip curled up slightly.

Hondo turned to his crew. “Set a course for Socorro!,” he commanded, grinning, “It seems we’ve joined the rebellion!”

They had a great distance to travel to get to the other side of the galaxy. Hondo allowed them to rest in one of the rooms reserved for crew members that also doubled as old cargo storing space. They settled quietly, still exhausted from their venture, and no one spoke for a few minutes as each of them recollected themselves.

Aayla seated herself on one of the empty containers, Blitz and Goji sitting near her together on the floor. Draven was leaning against the wall next to them, fiddling with the com unit on his wrist while Anakin supported himself against another empty crate on the ground, Ventress and Quinlan across from him.

Ventress spared a glance at the Jedi. He was staring at his boots, his arms resting limply in his lap. She couldn’t read his expression, though he seemed lost in thought. It reminded her of herself after the massacre on Dathomir, despondent. She wondered whom he had discovered he’d lost in this unfamiliar world.

She decided to break the silence. “So, where’d you get that scar?,” she asked, trying to stir some levity into the air. Anakin looked up suddenly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Surprise quickly turned to reservation, though, and bashfulness dawned on his face.

“Uh, actually,” he began, struggling to meet her eyes, “I got it from you.” Now it was Ventress’s turn to be surprised. The others shared in her startlement.

“Me?,” she asked, a disbelieving smile emerging on her face.

“I — yes,” he answered eloquently. “It was from . . . when we were still on opposite sides of the war.”

Ventress felt a rock in her stomach begin to settle. Before the very end of the war she had been pardoned for her crimes against the Republic. She and Quinlan had worked together to attempt to assassinate Dooku, but even after that failed the Jedi had used her knowledge of Separatist stratagem and resources to their advantage on the battlefield. They had reaccepted her into the Order; that was the way of the Jedi — forgiveness — though Ventress was never entirely convinced it was out of the goodness of their hearts, but rather for the information she possessed. She had killed several Jedi, without pity or mercy, including Quinlan’s own master. The Jedi swore to her that Dooku could never be forgiven, but if it was him who defected and held advantageous information . . . It didn’t matter. She wasn’t that person anymore. Now, she had a future, even in the face of the rising Empire and a falling galaxy. She pondered where she could be in the world Skywalker came from.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized lamely.

He looked somewhat embarrassed now. “Well, I mean, it wasn’t really you, it was — well it was another version of you, I guess. Please, don’t apologize.”

There was a moment of quiet before Quinlan interrupted it. “Well don’t just leave us on a cliffhanger! What happened?” Ventress elbowed him in the chest to the amusement of Aayla and the clones.

“You really don’t have to,” she said, shooting a glare at Quinlan.

For the first time, Ventress saw Anakin smile, and he shook his head. “It’s alright,” he mumbled. “It was on Coruscant, I was just about twenty then, and I had just been knighted—”

“You were knighted when you were _twenty?”_ , Quinlan cut in, leaning forward in incredulity. “Kriff, I guess you really are the Chosen One.”

If Anakin wasn’t looking put on the spot before, he certainly was now. “The Order needed more Knights for the war effort,” he said simply, his eyes falling, “Obi-Wan insisted on my behalf that I be promoted. Looking back though, I’m not sure I was ready for it, even though then I was adamant that I was.”

Aayla and Quinlan nodded. Too many padawans had been knighted too early to supply the Republic with more generals. All that had done was send more youths to their death, however, both clones and Jedi. Ventress recalled the padawans she had encountered in combat, their age striking her at the time, though then she had only seen it as something she could capitalize on. Sympathy had escaped her then; she was grateful it didn’t now.

Anakin continued. “Anyway, you had ambushed me in the industrial sector, and we fought. You boasted that your ability in combat outmatched mine, as did your precision with a lightsaber. You said that you could catch me across the face without gouging my eye out and then — well you did.”

Quinlan patted Ventress on the shoulder. “Well I have to say that you did some nice work there,” he quipped, “Look at that accuracy.” Anakin looked away again, Ventress realized out of coyness. “In all seriousness, though,” Quinlan started, “Do you think you could tell us about what things are like in your galaxy? Why did you leave the Order? And what are we like?" he grinned. "Are we all wildly different in your memory?”

Anakin’s expression mellowed. “Each of you are as I remember you,” he lied. He didn’t look at Ventress now; he knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to tell her she was dead. Of course Aayla and Quinlan were no different, but he didn’t have the words for the truth. It was easier this way, for both of them.

The Kiffar Jedi shuffled, stretching his legs out a bit more and wrapping an arm around Ventress. “So what happened after the war? You left the Order after it ended?”

Anakin nodded. “It was difficult, but I don’t regret it. I still kept in contact with Obi-Wan and a few other Jedi, but they were also busy with rebuilding the galaxy.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I —,” he hesitated, realizing he was waiting for judgement. But none of that mattered anymore, certainly not to present company if Quinlan and Ventress were anything to look at.

“I fell in love,” he said, the comforting warmth quickly smothered by a sense of bottomlessness that swallowed his stomach. Draven was no longer fussing with his com, listening to the conversation.

“Wow,” Quinlan breathed. “So that’s why you left? To get married? Have kids?”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably. “Actually . . . I was already married.”

Quinlan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Aayla herself looked alarmed. “You — you’re serious? Man, you really must have been head over heels,” he laughed. “Who was this woman who was bold enough to marry a Jedi?”

Anakin again reoriented himself. “Uh . . . Padmé Amidala.”

They were speechless now. Quinlan pressed a hand to his forehead in astonishment. “Wow,” he breathed, “When did you two find the time for that?”

Anakin was baffled that this conversation was even happening. Revealing his marriage to the council had been a bit painful, albeit a huge weight off his shoulders, but the other Jedi seemed to be taking it in strides. “It was her idea,” he answered, recalling the moment with a now bitter fondness. “It was right after the war started, and we just did it without thinking. I think it was the first time either of us had ever put ourselves before our responsibilities. I have to admit I was nervous, but knowing that she would always be there, it made me less afraid.”

Aayla stared at him thoughtfully. Anakin knew she had had a close bond with her clone commander, Bly, and he wondered what had become of it when the war ended. He wondered what had become of it now.

“Did the Council ever discover your relationship?,” she asked.

“I think they probably suspected there was something between us, though I don’t think they believed we would take it so far as to get married. But Obi-Wan knew what was going on the whole time; I couldn’t keep anything from him.” He smiled, wistful. “I told them the truth before I left. Padmé’s pregnancy probably tipped them off though.” Before he could register what he was saying the words had already left his mouth and his face darkened.

Aayla’s features grew soft. “You have a child?,” she asked tenderly. “Madame Jocasta had said that Senator Mothma mentioned something about that, but I didn’t know . . .”

Anakin felt numb. “Children,” he whispered, nearly choking on the word. “Twins, a boy and a girl. But — but they don’t . . .” Anakin couldn’t bear to finish, tears already trailing over his cheeks. “I was never born,” he croaked, staring at the floor, “so neither were they.”

He felt a hand delicately rest on one of his shoulders, looking up to find Aayla there. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, kneeling down. “I’m so sorry.” Anakin could only incline his head slightly in acknowledgment, afraid that if he spoke he’d only begin to sob.

“What are their names?” It was Ventress, sitting patiently, her Force presence open and tranquil.

“Luke and Leia,” he breathed, picturing them before him. He saw his son with his sun-kissed hair and his daughter with her mother’s eyes. Fresh tears fell silently down his face again before he could stop them and he laughed bitterly. “They were the best part of me,” he whispered coarsely. “But now they’re gone. And it’s my fault.”

“No it’s not.” Aayla gripped his shoulder tighter, reassuringly, and Anakin forced himself to meet her eyes. “This was a manipulation by the Sith. You will restore the galaxy and the Jedi. I believe that.”

Anakin stared back desperately. “But I don’t know how,” he murmured, feeling useless. “Only Sidious does. And I’m living on borrowed time.”

“You are the Chosen One,” she replied simply. “The Force will be with you, and so will we.”

* * *

The air on Imperial Center was sharp, acrid, and biting to the senses. The sunset had caked the sky in a coral afterglow, a striking red seeping into it, drowning out the shadows of the clouds. A crisp breeze swept the naval shipyard, but Tarkin paid it no mind. He was too busy trying to ignore Ignavus striding beside him, far too closely as far as he was concerned.

They were making their way towards the Supreme Commander’s flagship, the _Agonizer_ , where Colonel Yularen was waiting for them to depart for Ryloth. Neither had spoken to one another since the incident on the prison barge; each of them had received their new orders individually, as well as their scoldings.

Tarkin was in no mood for another failure, so he was going to have to put up with Ignavus if he was going to return to the capital with good news for Palpatine. Easier said than done, however.

“It was most wise of the Emperor to assign another officer to this mission in the wake of your dereliction. I’m sure the Colonel will be a good influence on you,” Ignavus chimed, shattering the shield that was the silence. “This was the second time you let the same Jedi escape.”

Tarkin’s expression remained unchanged. “The failure was not mine alone,” he stated stoically. “Perhaps this is solely the Emperor’s way of keeping an extra eye on you.”

Suddenly Ignavus sidestepped Tarkin, his cape whirling behind him as his fists clenched and he beared down on him. “I am not in need of a caretaker, _Governor ,”_ he spat, visibly seething, “Nor any supervisor. You may be one of the most powerful men in the galaxy, and a pathetic favorite of my master, but you are nothing next to the power of the Force.” He raised his fist for emphasis, and Tarkin imagined him snarling behind the mask, though he said nothing.

His countenance remained indifferent, knowing how deeply it irritated the apprentice that his intimidation had no effect, but Tarkin could not help the slight upward tilt of his lip a moment later.

He deftly stepped around Ignavus and continued walking. “Perhaps this is your chance to prove that to the Emperor then,” he smirked, his face now free of the commander’s notice. Tarkin gazed ahead of him to the _Agonizer_ and the Star Destroyers already taking off to the atmosphere above him.

 _Ignavus may have the Force, but he knows nothing of politics. I have the navy, my allies and the Emperor. Once I have the Jedi,_ his smile straightened into a calculated sneer, _the_ _galaxy is as good as mine._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I know I’m a few days late updating; I’ve been immensely busy the past week, but thank you all for being so patient. Again, thanks to all of you who are keeping up with the story and commenting, please keep doing so, I love hearing all of your thoughts. Thank you again and stay tuned for the next chapter!


	12. City of Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I’m afraid a busy schedule kept me from being able to update sooner in the week, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Things are starting to get set into motion now, and I can’t wait for you guys to see what happens next! Thank you all for your great comments, please enjoy.

Socorro was a planet rich in commerce, people, and activity — corruption, peril, and crime just as abundant. The planet had evaded any Republic presence or intrusion for as long as anyone could remember. No unifying government was present; rather, control of Socorro was contested by several criminal organizations and families, the Hutts being but one. A unified cultural force, which resulted from integration between the planet's nomadic and criminal factions, offered formidable protection from intrusion by offworld authorities. To say Socorro was a dangerous place would be an understatement.

But what better place to hide for a Jedi?

A number of other ships, many of them cargo freighters likely carrying illegal goods, were already entering the planet’s orbit by the time Hondo’s saucer departed hyperspace. Like Tatooine, Socorro was a desert planet, its land composed of peculiar midnight black sands. The name Socorro in Old Corellian meant “scorched earth”, which must have seemed a fitting title to the Core World colonizers when they first arrived three thousand years before.

Diving down to the capital city of Vakeyya, the saucer wheeled over various spaceports and crowded marketplaces, the planet’s red sun coating everything in a distinctive crimson haze. The haphazard layout of the metropolis reminded Anakin of Mos Espa, with its congested streets and buildings constructed on top of each other — a strange mirror image of Coruscant in which the chaos and squalor of the lower levels existed shamelessly on the surface.

“Did Madame Jocasta mention where exactly Master Rancisis was supposed to be?,” Quinlan asked, observing the patchwork of intersecting avenues and decrepit structures. They were back on the bridge, now having physically recuperated from their mission, though an air of unrest still hung over them.

“I’m afraid not,” Aayla answered, not breaking her gaze from the buildings below. “Master Rancisis last made a transmission about a month and a half ago, only to inform the base on Savareen of Imperial activity in the system. It would be safer for him to keep his location secret should the Empire come to Socorro or other Jedi be captured.”

“What about the other rebels stationed here? Wouldn’t they know where he is?”

“I’m not sure. It’s likely he might have only been working with them through holos this whole time. There’s a high price on his head, and if any one of the thousands of bounty hunters on the planet discovered where he was, sooner or later all of Socorro, and eventually the Empire, would be chasing him down.”

Draven shot a disdainful glare at the city surface. “Then where do we even begin to look for him?,” he posed.

Hondo began to laugh behind them, knocking the monkey-lizard sitting on his shoulder off as he threw his hand backwards. “Do not worry about that, my friends,” he assured, sauntering over to them. “I know a very special place where we can find all the information you need.”

The saucer soon slowed to hover over a semi-vacant port, touching down abruptly and sending red dust clouds into the air. The sun was already beginning to set, the light catching the particles and causing them to glow as they floated upwards, like fragments of stars that had fallen from the sky. Following the others as they exited the ship, Anakin found himself absently admiring the scene, recalling how his mother had taught him to see beauty in even the harshest of places. At the thought of her, he was suddenly severed from his daze.

The two of them had ended up on Tatooine after Gardulla had used them as betting chips and lost to Watto. Would Gardulla still have put her on the line alone? He knew that the thrill of the gamble, at least for the crime lord, was staked in the value of the property. She wouldn’t have bet slaves she was already planning to sell or dispose of. Most servants were highly expensive, but Shmi was more than just her market price to slavers and customers. She spoke multiple languages, and more importantly, she was a skilled worker — a mechanic with more technical skills than many of the slaves owned by Gardulla. Typically, especially under the Hutts, slaves were utilized as a source of physical labor; they were purposefully prohibited from learning to read or write, such things were luxuries for free life forms, and would only aid a slave should they attempt to escape. An educated servant was rare, and would have made a wager more interesting. Anakin wondered whether his mother would have been bet and brought to Tatooine regardless of the circumstances, regardless of if he was there or not.

“Skywalker!”

Anakin snapped from his speculation and turned his attention behind him, where Draven lingered before the rest of the group expectantly. “Are you coming?,” he asked, motioning beyond him.

Anakin blinked, the dust still flittering in the light out of the corner of his eye. “Uh yes, sorry,” he apologized, treading evenly to catch up to his companions, focusing on his pace to distract himself from his thoughts.

* * *

Ryloth was a world defined by hardship and an ongoing struggle for survival. Its people were strong, stalwart, but their history was scarred and fragmented not on the basis of their own exploits, but of those who had conquered them. The Empire was only a successor of the many that had come before.

The Twi’leks, for all their resilience, could not defend against the sheer might of the Imperial Navy and its armies. Though they were more organized than Tarkin had initially believed, he was sure that that was only thanks to rebel influence. They had had a Jedi leading them after all.

Ignavus and his battalion had made short work of the rebel soldiers on the planet below, decimating their forces with an aerial barrage from the _Agonizer_ and then finishing them off on the ground in minutes. Tarkin could plainly see Yularen’s confliction as they watched the Supreme Commander’s legion storm what was left of the base from above.

“I came here to liberate these people only a few years ago,” he said quietly, fixing his gaze on the massacre, unable to look away. He was closing in on borderline traitorous words, and both of them knew it. “I never imagined that I would be back to subjugate them.”

Tarkin stepped closer to him, keeping his own voice low. “You are continuing to do the right thing, Colonel,” he assured, “Wiping out traitors. The Separatists were no different to these rebels. You are only doing your duty as a serviceman, and a patriot.”

Yularen said nothing, but Tarkin was content with that.

He departed for Ryloth’s surface a few minutes later once the firefight had died with the remaining insurgents. Reaching the ground, he was escorted by a pair of troopers inside the rebel base, which was built into the side of a massive cliff face. Tarkin stepped gingerly over the bodies strewn over the floor, stormtrooper and rebel alike. He was fairly unconcerned with the vicious casualties that his tactics in battle yielded — one needed to do whatever it took to win — but even he had to admit that facing them in the flesh was . . . distasteful.

Ignavus was waiting for him in the lower levels at the end of a trail of corpses with still fresh lightsaber cuts — an obvious clue as to how they had met their demise. “Supreme Commander,” he addressed. “Impressive work.”

Ignavus tilted his head in a subtle gesture as if to acknowledge the governor’s greeting and dry compliment. “It was no challenge, Governor, I assure you,” he replied, his voice crackling through the modulator. “These men were no warriors. Nor was the Jedi.”

Tarkin then noticed the body laying on the floor behind Ignavus’s feet, curled in an unnatural position, a lightsaber just out of reach of a forever outstretched hand.

“Coleman Kcaj,” Ignavus informed him, clearly reading his unsettled face and thoughts. “A former member of the Jedi Council.”

Tarkin wretched his eyes away from the cadaver, unable to help the scrunch of his nose at the gruesome scene. “It seems our mission was a success then,” he began, eager to leave Ryloth and never return. “Shall we—”

“There’s something else.”

Tarkin blanched at the interruption. The lines on his forehead deepened as he again donned a mask of displeasure. “Excuse me?,” he demanded.

Ignavus was still. “I have discovered something the Emperor will find . . . interesting. As will you.” Before Tarkin could command him to elaborate, the man stepped aside to clear the governor’s view of the holotable behind the Jedi’s body, pressing a button to display the last made transmission.

“Master Kcaj,” the recording began, the voice and face, though impeded slightly by static, were instantly recognizable. Before him, a young woman knelt forward, a sleek blaster brandished in one hand while shooting could be heard faintly in the distance, dulled by the poor connection. Even in the cerulean light, her eyes were still piercing, a flame burning brightly behind them, infuriatingly resolute. Padmé Amidala stared back at him, unflinching despite the danger surrounding her. Tarkin felt a wave of realization, anger, and then loathing crash over him.

“This is Senator Amidala,” she reported as the recording continued. “I’m contacting you from Tatooine—” She ducked suddenly as a blaster bolt flew over her head. “We need your assistance. Fulcrum has sent us a message. They know how to overthrow the Emperor.”

 _Traitor_ , Tarkin seethed.

“The fleet on Dantooine has scattered and Senator Organa has been captured. We need to reconvene our forces. Please Master Kcaj, contact me as soon as you receive this message.” The Senator’s face was grim, but her eyes were still smoldering dauntlessly, boring into Tarkin’s own. “May the Force be with you.” The recording ended and Amidala disappeared, the echo of her words in the empty base the only proof of her presence.

Tarkin’s heart was beating so loudly he could hear it pounding in his ears. He realized the sudden spike in adrenaline was rooted in a quiet rage. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Amidala was a long-time ally of Organa, and Mothma as well. They were old regime loyalists, dangerous to order and security, and former members of the now defunct Delegation of 2000, though the put-down of their coalition had not curbed their stubbornness. His eyes narrowed. The Emperor would have her head.

“It seems we have a turncoat in our midst.”

Tarkin looked back to Ignavus, still standing next to the holotable. “Wouldn’t you say so, Governor?” He approached him now, shoulders bearing forward like a great mountain and breathing almost laboriously, as if in anticipation of something. “Organa was only a distraction. Amidala is the key.”

Tarkin’s eyes flitted back to the holotable momentarily as his mind connected the pieces. He nodded his head absently before allowing himself to breathe, facing Ignavus once more. The Sith leered down at him in turn, remaining eerily still.

“Ready your men, Governor, and contact the Emperor. Tell him we are going to cut the head off the serpent. We are headed to Tatooine.”

* * *

Socorro’s sun had disappeared from view now, swallowed by a dusky and dark night sky. The planet had no moons, so once daylight died, luminosity was scarce. The majority of any light now came from the stars, which at present were obscured by pollution.

Hondo and a few of his men led them down the waning and now quieter streets, nightfall having quelled the majority of the city’s populous. The sky glittered above them, despite the befouled world below, painting an odd picture. A city of thieves nestled in pitch black dunes under an even darker sky. Anakin felt the sand crunch beneath his feet, every grain crushing into even tinier specks of dust each step he took. He resisted the urge to scratch particles of sand from his eyes, despite there being nothing there.

They reached a building closer to the heart of Vakeyya barely half an hour later, and were ushered inside quickly. Upon being escorted in, Anakin found that they were in a bar, filled to the brim with patrons, most of them heavily drunk. Bail looked vaguely uneased, and shot a glance at Aayla, who seemed to share the same concern with Draven. Quinlan on the other hand looked quite intrigued, and more than a little tantalized. He glanced longingly at a Gen’Dai downing a glass of Corellian liquor before Hondo’s men pushed them further inside.

“What are we doing here?,” Aayla asked, stepping past Blitz to reach Hondo’s ear so he could hear her over the noise.

The captain only smiled. “You wanted to find your Jedi friend, yes?,” he replied, looking over his shoulder. Aayla raised an eyebrow and Hondo laughed, though it was difficult to hear over the volume. “Patience, Master Jedi,” he chided good-naturedly, a mischievousness shadowing his grin. “Soon you’ll have your answers.”

Aayla turned back to her companions and shrugged her shoulders, caution still evident in her features. Hondo continued to lead them through the building, flashing lights and roaring music disorienting Anakin somewhat as he followed. It was sensory overload for him. Of course the battlefield had been no different, but adrenaline had helped him to keep his focus then. Here, it reminded him of his first time on Coruscant. So many people in one place, the Force overwhelming him and millions of voices ringing in his head. It had almost hurt, his fear and anxiety acting as temporary distractions from the chorus when he stood before the Jedi Council that night. He exhaled, reinforcing his shields in an attempt to block out some of the noise.

They headed into a back corridor, the crew hanging back outside the entrance to stand guard. “Come, come, my friends,” Hondo beckoned, “Follow me.” Reaching the end of the hallway, Hondo stopped in front of the last door, knocking lightly. When there was no answer he began to bang on the metal impatiently. “ _Hellloooo_ ,” he called, still beating on the door. “Anyone in there?”

Draven shot Aayla another look. Hondo ceased his barrage, giving the door a displeased scan. He huffed, before laying an open hand against the metal. “There are Jedi here to see you,” he murmured to the doorway, staring intently back at his companions. Silence was once again the only answer and Hondo sighed, stepping away from the wall. He laid his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I had heard he was here, I—”

The door opened with a tinny snap, harshly grating against the framework.

“Ah,” Hondo said, now pleasantly surprised. He turned back to the party behind him. “Did I not tell you, my friends?” He headed into the room, nodding his head for them to follow as he strode into the dark. There was little light inside, only an unsteady glare from outside seeping in through the window shutters. They were crammed against one another in the small space, shuffling around a table in the middle of the room where a cloaked figure sat. They were sipping from a glass, its contents nearly empty as they lowered it down.

“Good evening, my friend,” Hondo greeted, still as casual as ever. “I knew you would be eager to talk once you heard there were Jedi here for you.” Across the room, the company glanced amongst one another. Anakin caught Ventress’s eye and the both of them looked to the figure at the head of the table. Everyone else soon followed their line of sight.

“Come, why don’t you be hospitable to your guests,” Hondo encouraged the stranger, “They are eager to hear where their companion is.” The figure turned slightly, almost reluctantly to the pirate, and slowly lowered their hood. He looked up, and Anakin felt a surge of shock grip him for a moment.

“Saw. Saw Gerrera,” he introduced himself, nodding to each of them. His gaze lingered on Anakin for a moment more, as if to gauge the Jedi’s expression. “I assume you’re looking for Oppo Rancisis,” he guessed, taking another sip from his glass.

“That’s correct,” Aayla answered quickly. “I’m afraid we’ve never had the pleasure of meeting. I don’t believe you had ever come to Dantooine.”

“Let’s just say I have a conflicting strategy with Mothma and Ackbar,” he said, a smirk beginning to show. “I fight the Empire my way, and they fight it theirs.” Aayla only nodded, but Draven scowled.

“Extremist would be a more accurate description,” he glared. Saw’s eyes darted to meet the general’s in an instant, and Anakin sensed a sharp indignance as well as rising defiance boiling up to the surface.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to bring the Emperor down,” he maintained, his voice steady. “I’m not afraid to show him that we won't be bullied into submission. If you have a problem with that, you may as well give up the fight. General.”

Draven only continued to scowl, obviously not interested in picking a fight with a man who wasn't going to be reasoned with.

“So you know where Master Rancisis is?,” Quinlan cut in, directing their attention back to the task at hand.

Saw stood from his chair, downing the last of his liquor. “I do,” he said, pulling his hood back up, “I can take you to him, but we can’t waste time. I hear a fleet of Star Destroyers is in the Gaulus Sector, and that Ignavus is commanding it. If he’s chasing you, he’s not far away, and you don’t want to lead him to your friend.”

Unease descended on them once more, and Anakin looked to each of his comrades immediately. _Had the Empire tracked them? That was impossible. But then how could they be so close?_

“The Gaulus Sector?,” Aayla echoed, “We have two bases there, on Gaulus and Ryloth.” She turned to Quinlan and Draven. “You don’t think—”

“Who knows?,” Quinaln said, putting a hand to his chin, “But we can’t get hung up on the what-ifs. If the Empire has found either of the bases there’s not much we can do.”

“What about Master Kcaj?,” Aayla argued.

Quinaln sighed. “We have to trust him,” he said, “And trust in the Force.”

“They could also be on Wrea,” Saw assured them, “Some of my men have set up a base of operations there, as well as on Jedha.”

Draven’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “And you’re here why?,” he questioned.

Saw simpered, strolling casually past him. “For the entertainment,” he quipped, before turning back around. “But truly, as reluctant as I am to partner with you,” he sighed, “we can’t win this war without the Jedi.”

Anakin held the man’s gaze, wondering whether Onderon had been reclaimed, whether his sister had survived. He searched his eyes, a familiar emptiness making itself known inside him. Steela was dead. Anakin stepped forward, pushing past his hesitation. “Then let us help you,” he said.

Saw observed him for a moment before his subdued smile returned. He waved, “Follow me. We have a bit of an expedition ahead of us.”

* * *

Saw led them out of the city and into the desert. They had bid farewell to Hondo, who said he would wait for them back at the port. Draven had asked if it was really a wise idea to leave R3 in the pirates’ care, but Aayla replied that the droid would be the one keeping an eye on them, and report back if anything was amiss.

The desert was freezing at night, and the wind had begun to pick up once the sun had set, blistering through each of them cruelly. Anakin felt he should have been used to it, but the cold plagued him nonetheless, and he held his hood over his head to keep it from blowing off.

“Where is it exactly that we’re heading?,” Quinlan called ahead to Saw, holding his hands in front of his eyes to keep sand from flying into them.

“West,” he replied, not slowing his pace.

“Do you think you could be any more specific?,” Quinlan raised, shooting a frustrated glance at Ventress.

“Afraid not,” Saw said, bracing himself against another gust of wind. “We won’t see the exact path until around late dawn. The Doaba Badlands have a unique phenomenon where you can see lights at the edge of the horizon, but they only appear just as the sun sets and rises. The locals call them Min Min lights. When they appear, they’ll be able to lead us to Rancisis.”

With that, they continued their trek for the rest of the night, stopping for a little less than an hour to rest before carrying on. It wasn’t long after that that Anakin could feel the chill in the air dissipating slightly as the jagged cliff valleys of the badlands came into view. The morning would be here soon.

“When can we expect to be seeing those lights?,” Blitz asked under his helmet, obviously exhausted from the journey. Goji patted him on the back reassuringly.

“I thought you clones could withstand any stress,” Saw chimed, though it was evident the march was taxing on him as well. “It won’t be long now,” he said, his foot slipping slightly in the sands before he dug it into the earth to steady himself against another powerful and icy gust. “Look,” he pointed to the horizon, “There’s Sokor, Socorro’s sun. Just coming up from the mountains now.”

There was indeed some radiance leaking into the sky, a soft glow infiltrating the blackness. The grains of sand sparkled in the dunes, casting a reflection of the heavens, a dark emptiness filled with small, yet endlessly bright, gleaming lights. It was like standing amongst the stars. The grains twinkled at their feet earnestly as the sun began to rise higher, the sky turning from black to a deep violet which dripped into a dim orange at the skyline.

It was a magnificent sight, and Anakin marveled at the beauty the desert was capable of. He had never posited that it could hold much more than death and heat, especially on Tatooine, but nevertheless the scene entranced him. For a moment, admiring the coming dawn, Anakin thought he saw something shimmer at the edge of his vision. A silhouette, barely visible, seemingly radiating with a tender glow. He blinked, perhaps there was sand in his eyes, but there was nothing there, and judging by the empty desert stretched before him, not a soul either. He had probably imagined it.

“Look!”

The sudden cry pulled Anakin’s attention back to the present, and he followed the path of Saw’s outstretched arm towards the valley. Sparks of light flittered and scintillated at the base of the rocks, painting an unearthly and ethereal sight. The flares floated serenely above the ground at the horizon line, climbing higher in the air before seemingly fizzling out.

“Are those . . ?,” Aayla began.

“Yep,” Saw responded, raising a pair of scopes to his eyes to better observe the occurrence. “That’s where we’ll find your friend.”

They quickly made their way to the entrance of the valley, making haste as the sun began to rise farther. Reaching the rising rock formations, they clambered up the crags of the cliffs, the floating lights parting as they made their way through and up the walls of weathered stone. Climbing to the plateaued peak of the ridge, Anakin could make out the Min Min lights just beginning to fade, as well as Vakeyya in the far distance, rippling in the heat like an illusion. He turned back to follow Saw’s gaze into the valley, and noticed a thin trail of rising smoke in between the rocks barely a mile away.

“That’ll be him,” Saw grunted, squinting to shield his eyes from the sun. “Let’s go.”

Progressing through the maze of stone, they allowed Saw to escort them carefully over the cliffs and jagged edges of the rock. The sky now burned a brilliant coral hue, Sokor ascending over them like a great red comet. They soon arrived at the source of the smoke, coming to the overhang of another ridge outlooking the vast dune sea. Upon it sat a hut, simple in design and structure, composed of russet clay with a small opening in the roof, from which the smoke was currently emanating.

Without hesitation Saw approached the hut and knocked on the strip of wood that must have functioned as a door. “Master Jedi?,” he called, “I know you don’t prefer to speak in person, but I’ve brought some friends you might want to see.”

It seemed that there was already shuffling behind the door before Saw could finish his thoughts, and a second later it was slowly creaked ajar. A gnarled and sage green hand appeared, cupping the curve of the wood, followed shortly by the curiously pleased face of an old Thisspiasian emerging from inside.

“Gerrera,” he acknowledged, before tilting his head to see the other Jedi and soldiers who had accompanied him.

“Master Rancisis,” Aayla greeted, a warm and relieved smile blossoming on her face. She hurried towards him as he continued to slither out from his home, gently embracing him as they reached one another.

“Master Secura,” Rancisis chuckled dryly, “It is good to see you alive.” He looked to the others. “All of you,” he murmured. His knowing gaze fell over each of them as Aayla released him, settling on Anakin searchingly.

They locked eyes, and Rancis raised his brow thoughtfully. “It’s you,” he said, blinking leadenly. Anakin only stood still, unsure of what to say, becoming increasingly aware of the cool wisps of air against his back that had yet to die in the heat. The others looked between them expectantly. Rancisis nodded to himself after a moment, and slithered back towards his doorway.

“Please, come inside,” he rasped, “We have precious little time.”

* * *

Once again they were cramped together in a small space, huddled around the fire pit in the center of Rancisis’s hut. The embers crackled faintly as the soft stream of smoke dissipated steadily into the sky, perishing in the light of the sun.

“I had expected you might come,” Rancisis said, pouring tea for each of them as he snaked his way through the hut. “I felt your presence suddenly echo in the Force that day,” he told Anakin, handing Bail a steaming cup. “Being before you, I now realize who you are.”

Anakin stared into his reflection in the tea before returning the master’s gaze. “And . . . who is that?,” he asked. His grip on the cup tightened.

The Thisspiasian looked back at him in surprise, his eyes clouding with an aged steadfastness. “The Force has carved out a predestined path for you,” he proclaimed quietly, though his words carried volume. “I do not know your story, but I know who you are meant to be. You are the child of the Force, and you are here to bring balance.”

The declaration rang in his ears, and Anakin swallowed. The echo of the words dissolved in the white noise in his head, which he absently recognized as the hum of life he had learned to block out since he was a child. He remembered how as a padawan it scared him to see the inside of himself, how it had nearly devoured him that night in Palpatine’s office. Anakin breathed and slowly, cautiously, he lowered his shields.

He expected it to be like a dam breaking violently, the rush of noise and weight of every living being’s existence crushing him in an instant, the Force consuming and engulfing him like a bird in a storm or a pebble in the ocean. Instead it came like a river, flowing into him as if he was a delta connected to the sea. The unbearable noise, heavy with the voices of the universe, was now soft, feeling as though it emanated from him. It was the call of a siren, beckoning him to release himself, this time a gentle coaxing rather than the harsh pulling into the sound. He slipped into it, a familiar and long untouched warmth enveloping him. It was the embrace of his mother, and something much more.

_The Force is all things._

Anakin felt the warmth transforming into a sensation of weightlessness, the song of the siren resonating in his bones and in his chest. The cloud of sickness afflicting him dissipated, not completely, but as it waned he could breathe easier and he felt new. The remnant sensation of his mother brushing hair out of his face tickled his skin, and as the vision of her planted a kiss on his forehead, the last thing she had given him before her death, Anakin felt as if his heart had been plunged into the sun.

_And I am the Force._

He breathed, his surroundings rematerializing around him. In that split second, Anakin realized his eyes were wet. He recognized his Jedi companions must have sensed the sudden shift within him and he met Rancisis’s gaze.

“Anakin?”

It was Aayla’s voice, he noticed absently, now allowing himself to breathe. “Are you alright?,” she reached across to brush his arm in concern. He felt himself begin to smile and he lightly grazed her fingers with his own to quell her worry. He sighed wetly, and nodded to her.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a reassuring laugh bubbling up in his throat. “I’m okay.”

Master Rancisis touched Anakin’s shoulder and reached into his robe to pull an object from one of its pockets. A holocron.

The other Jedi straightened at the sight while the clones, Draven, Bail, Tonra, and Saw looked on curiously.

“I was not the only one who sensed your presence,” Rancisis explained, holding the cube delicately. “This was delivered to me by some rebel scouts who are stationed in Vakeyya. It was brought to them by Socorran smugglers. From Fulcrum.”

“Fulcrum?,” Anakin echoed.

“A nameless agent, likely a spy, who has been aiding the alliance with information and resources crucial to our efforts,” Rancisis explained. “They are a mystery to us, but now, it seems as if now, they want to be found.” He waved his free hand over the holocron and it floated upwards, opening with a bright blue glow and displaying a map with a hyperlane route drawn as a path. It was incomplete, landing squarely . . . on Tatooine.

“This was brought to me just after I received notice that Dantooine was being evacuated,” the Thisspiasian clarified. “It is a map to Fulcrum’s location. They also sent out a coded message to the alliance that they knew of how to destroy the Emperor.” He turned back to Anakin. “I believe they know it must involve you. The trail ends at Tatooine; you will find the other half of the map there.”

“Why the treasure hunt?,” Quinaln squinted at the incomplete map.

“They don’t want to make themselves easy to find,” Ventress replied, “They know how important they are. If the Empire got ahold of them, our ability to wage this war would be severely diminished.”

Draven was studying the map intently, his face scrunched in an expression of uncertainty. “So what now?,” he asked. “To Tatooine?”

Aayla crossed her arms. “I think we need to regroup with the rest of the alliance on Lehon,” she asserted.

“You don’t want to go after Fulcrum?,” Quinlan frowned.

“I do, but I think we need to split up,” she replied.

Draven looked to Blitz and Goji, and then back to the Twi’lek master. “Are you sure that’s the wisest plan?”

“Our fleet is scattered to the edges of the galaxy. Half of us need to regroup and collect other soldiers in still active cells. We can’t afford to leave our men behind. The rest of us will go to Tatooine.”

Anakin stood, a knowing expression settling on Rancisis. He lifted his gaze to the image of Tatooine on the map, the others staring at him expectantly. He brushed aside the latent fear and uncertainty, the echo of Shmi’s touch and the warmth of the twin suns returning to him as the Force enveloped them, a long forgotten song returning to his heart. 

“Then what are we waiting for?”

* * *


	13. Parting of the Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I know this update is a long time coming and I apologize for the delay. I’m in the process of moving right now, so I’ve been immensely busy as of late, but I’m going to try to update every two weeks or so now. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for reading!

Master Rancisis had joined them on the journey back to Vakeyya in order to regroup with the others on Lehon. Saw had volunteered his services once more, offering his own ship to get them there.

“I thought you wanted to do your own thing,” Draven had remarked when Saw declared he might join the alliance after all.

“Like I said before,” he replied, “I can’t win this war alone. Much as I’d like to argue with Mothma, we’re fighting the same battle.” He snorted. “Besides,” Saw smiled, “I’d hate to make an enemy out of her.”

The edge of Draven’s lip curled slightly despite himself, and he simply nodded, following the man over the dunes.

A sandstorm had begun to pick up a few hours later, more than halfway through their trek, blocking out the sun and threatening to swallow them all whole. The Jedi had encircled their other comrades as they pushed through the storm, using the Force to sway the path of the airborne sand particles away from them, and their enhanced senses to pinpoint what direction they were heading in. It was a hard march without the presence of such winds; with it, it was nearly impossible.

“How much further?,” Tonra screamed to be heard above the storm, holding a hand over his mouth to prevent sand from flying into it.

Saw grunted as he pulled his cloak up to cover his face, blinking back the particles in his eyes. “We shouldn’t be far away from the city now,” he yelled back. “But it’s impossible to see.”

“I’ll contact Arthree and he can pick up on my signal,” Aayla called. “He can tell the pirates where to find us.”

The others made no argument and Aayla activated her comm unit, quiet static interrupting the howl of the wind. With her attention diverted from upholding their guard against the sand, Anakin could feel how their defense wavered for a moment before recovering a second later. They couldn’t keep this up much longer.

“Arthree? Arthree, come in.”

The static only continued.

“Arthree!,” Aayla tried once more. “If you can hear me I need you to hone in on my signal! You need to tell Hondo to retrieve us, we’re not far outside the city. Arthree?”

The wind was whipping up the earth below them now, the dunes shifting directly beneath their feet as the storm swirled above them. Another massive gust pushed them back a few paces, causing Goji to lose his footing and crash into Quinlan. In attempting to reorient themselves and with another of their pillars of defense lost, the Jedi’s focus on maintaining the invisible shield against the barrage of sand faltered, and as soon as it did, they were devoured by the storm.

The assault scattered them, blinding them to one another as their silhouettes became lost in the churning dust. Anakin was thrown backwards, his first instinct being to cover his face to prevent himself from being suffocated. He brought his knees to his chest, clutching his cloak tightly as he tried to regain his footing, slipping once before he could get back to his feet. He squinted, trying to find his friends within the cyclone as the sand pelted his eyes.

“Aayla!,” he cried, clenching his jaw as another gust shook his frame. “Vos! Assaj!”

There was no answer, and even if there was it was likely he wouldn’t have been able to hear it above the wind. Anakin was about to try again as he fell to his knees against a small crest of sand to keep low to the ground. He breathed heavily, feeling the particles grate on his skin, drying his mouth and throat and tangling in his hair. He knew his eyes and ears would only distract him, and he gripped his cloak tighter, his eyelids falling shut.

_Breathe._

Obi-Wan’s voice echoed in his mind. Younger. Less burdened.

_Breathe. Let go your conscious self and feel the life flowing around you._

Anakin felt his arm stretch out in front of him, almost instinctively.

_Seek it out, and then center yourself. There is a vast depth of it in the galaxy, so much so that it can become overwhelming. Just breathe, and allow yourself to feel life as it is. Breathe, Anakin, just breathe._

He exhaled, the sand still coarse on his tongue and harsh on his face, but the noise had dulled. His right arm reached out as well, and slowly he drew his hands apart, trembling slightly as he did so. His companions’ Force signatures flickered more prominently now, and Anakin extended himself further, heaving somewhat at the effort. His eyes still closed, he could detect the cry of the winds giving way to his will, but he didn’t stop, continuing to focus on keeping his breath steady.

Gradually, he allowed himself to open his eyes, both arms now outstretched before him. He had created an air pocket, a safe zone, in which the sand did not penetrate. His companions, startledly found themselves within it as a few of them rose back to their feet, glancing back at one another as if to verify where they were. Anakin inhaled again, a bit shakier this time, though whether it was from the effort or the bewilderment of the sight he wasn’t quite sure.

“Skywalker!,” Aayla called, her voice shining with both relief and shock.

Anakin, still kneeling, looked up to see her approaching, stopping to help Blitz stand. “I don’t think I can do this for much longer,” he stressed, his breath catching in his throat.

Aayla looked as if she was about to respond when a metallic roaring cut through the noise of the storm and a massive shadow descended over them. The silhouette of a ship sunk down further until it was practically on top of the party, as if it were competing with the elements to smother them.

“Hondo!,” Quinlan cried, waving to the descending saucer.

Before the ship could land, the sand still battering against it as an entry ramp was lowered, another engine roar cut through the air, the source close above their heads. Anakin squinted to see through the wall of sand when Hondo’s saucer suddenly stopped lowering itself. Three ships, dark and spherical in shape, hovered menacingly in the distance. His attention still on maintaining their cover, Anakin was thrown off guard when a blaster bolt unexpectedly blazed through the swirling storm and nearly hit Ventress, who was closest to the now stagnant saucer. Aayla immediately swiveled around as the ships began to invade the safe zone, her face grim and voice tight with urgency.

“TIEs!,” she screamed, “Everyone to the ship! Skywalker, drop the shield!”

The massive entry ramp was now almost fully deployed, and as if on Aayla’s cue the saucer tilted so that the ramp could touch down and dig into the earth. As soon as it hit the ground, the ship began to move backwards back into the winds, baiting them towards it. They raced to catch up to the saucer as it attempted to put distance between itself and the newly arrived fighters.

“Go, go, go!,” Aayla commanded, ushering her companions into the approaching storm. “Skywalker! Let’s move!”

Anakin was still holding back the winds as the enemy ships began to close the distance between them.

“Skywalker!,” Aayla cried again, desperation creeping into her voice.

The fighters were now increasing their speed, a harsh whirring slicing through the air. Sand stirred up beneath them as they jetted towards Anakin, and he could barely hear Aayla’s cries as his own heartbeat thrummed intensely, filling his ears. He clenched his fists for a moment, then jumped up from his knees to plant his feet into the earth. With a cry he pulled his arms back before thrusting them back out, sending the cyclone of sand around them rushing into the ships, throwing them into the storm.

The fighters were suddenly propelled backwards, and as they fought against the winds, an exhausted Anakin felt Aayla’s hands grip his arm with an intense ferocity to drag him to their escape. Fighting the powerful gusts, they ran to catch up to the fleeing saucer, their companions leaping to make it to the ramp.

“Come on!,” Ventress called, clutching the railing.

The saucer released a creak, beginning to tilt back up and picking up speed, the ramp now departing from the earth. Anakin could hear the screech of the fighters not so far away, nearly risking a moment to glance backwards before Aayla ushered him to jump, the two of them barely making it as the sand beneath them was scorched by blaster fire.

Anakin tried to catch his breath before Aayla and Ventress dragged him back to his feet. Saw had pulled out the rotary blaster cannon he had slung over his back and was firing into the fray, narrowly missing his targets.

“Everyone inside!,” he yelled. Draven quickly joined him, shooting a blaster bolt right through a cockpit window, just barely missing the pilot. The two of them covered their companions as they escaped to the ship’s interior, the ramp recalling itself as the saucer gained altitude.

Quinlan ignited his lightsaber just in time to deflect a bolt that nearly hit Bail, pushing the Senator inside before using the Force to grab Draven and Saw, pulling them to safety behind the reinforced doors. “That’s everyone!,” he declared, his voice straining. “Let’s tell Hondo to pack up and go!”

They rushed up through the saucer, the constant swerving and uplifting of the ship making the journey somewhat difficult as it careened through the air.

“Captain!,” Aayla cried as they burst into the bridge. “I thank you for coming back for us, but we have Imperial fighters on our tail, we need to leave _now!”_

Blaster fire suddenly hit the ship, raising the alarms and threatening to throw them off course. Hondo steadied himself, bracing against a control panel. “I’m working on it, Jedi!,” he grunted as more fire swept across the ship.

The saucer lurched forward, spinning, and propelled itself further into the sky, high enough to block out the sun for just a moment. At Sokor’s zenith, the engines were cut and they dropped to fall directly past the approaching fighters. Plummeting down to the ground, they were now in a position to exchange fire with the enemy ships. Their targets were chasing them down to the earth, but with the cannons in prime position, the pirates fired. Immediately one of the fighters burst into flames as blaster bolts loaded the cockpit and it spiraled, spewing smoke and molten metal.

Pieces of shrapnel grazed the other TIEs, but they continued their chase, shooting back and knocking out the canons with deadly precision. The saucer barely reactivated its engines in time to avoid a fatal crash with a mountainous sand dune, grazing the black earth.

“Gahhhh!,” Hondo gestured angrily as they shot back up towards the atmosphere. “There go our defenses!”

“How did they find us?,” Bail queried. “I thought Socorro was free of Imperial presence!”

“Must have been spies,” Quinlan answered gruffly. “The Empire would never set foot here directly, but I’m sure there are plenty looking out for their interests here if it means a reward. Obviously we weren’t as safe as we thought.”

Saw gripped an overhanging cable to keep himself upright as the ship shuddered, taking more incoming fire. “So how do we throw these guys off our trail?,” he yelled above the alarm.

They were ascending higher and higher into the atmosphere now, whizzing past the clouds and stirring a trail of smoke into them as the TIEs continued to close the distance. R3 rolled uncontrollably across the floor as they accelerated, pushing upwards. The hum of the frigate’s engines were increasing in volume now, and as another shot from the enemy hit home, a warning appeared on the ship’s console that they were in danger of overheating.

Hondo banged a fist against the panel. “I cannot catch a break these days!”

His rant was interrupted by further blaster fire and the ship took a dangerous dip as the fighters forced it down. The sandstorm was beginning to wane, and Vakeyya was now visible as they dove towards the surface. The city was truly alive now as masses of ships and various transports soared above it, and through the chaos, Anakin could make out a maze.

“Fly through the city!,” he shouted as the ship narrowly avoided crashing into the ground.

“Are you insane?,” Draven shot back, “We can’t evade all those vessels and buildings in a frigate this large!”

“Those fighters will have just as a hard a time as us, they’re much smaller but the wings cut off the pilots’ view of their surroundings—”

“They won’t be able to maneuver in time at the speed they’re flying at!,” Ventress finished. She turned to Hondo. “Head for the air traffic line at the city center!”

The pirate let out a hearty laugh. “I like your thinking, Jedi! Divert all power to the engines!”

“You can’t be ser—” Draven was unceremoniously cut off as they hurtled forward, spinning to dodge the spires of upreaching buildings and rising transports. One of the closely following TIEs, unable to evade the incoming smaller ships they had only barely been able to miss, burst into flames in one devastatingly brutal moment as it crashed into the side of a smuggling frigate.

Hondo released a few celebratory whoops while his crew cheered on as they streaked through the sky, still trailing smoke.

“It’s not over yet!,” Aayla warned, more incoming fire proving her correct. “Keep heading towards the traffic!”

The air was immensely crowded with descending and ascending ships, the hordes of vessels swarming to the center of activity and trade. They jetted forward, slipping under a stream of fast-traveling freighters, which became unintended targets as blaster fire from the TIE missed and hit them instead. Ships were moving in, out, and up from all directions, limiting their maneuverability, but their size made it so that others parted for _them_ , braking and swiveling in midair to avoid the path of the massive saucer.

“Pull up! Pull up!,” Anakin urged, a bulkhead suddenly veering into their path. They swerved straight upwards, the velocity throwing them all back violently against the bridge navigation consoles.

The TIE was not deterred, zipping in between the surge of ships in precisely calculated motion. It fired once again, this time striking its target. The pilot put on speed, climbing through the air faster and faster until it was nearly directly beneath them.

“They’re under us!,” Hondo shouted, the monkey-lizard on his shoulder shrieking as the ship’s alarms continued to blare.

Anakin thought quickly. “Cut the engines!”

“ _What?!_ ,” came the unanimous reply.

“Just do it!,” he commanded.

There was no time for argument, and as soon as they had barely broken the city’s air traffic barrier, the saucer paused its ascent. The TIE immediately slammed into the ship, having no time to halt or change direction, exploding on impact.

When they began to sink, the engines were quickly reactivated, and they hovered above Vakeyya for a few bewildered moments.

Each of them were breathing heavily, the immediate stress beginning to fade in the newfound quiet. Quinlan huffed, spent. “That was close,” he commented bluntly.

Tonra chuckled lightly at his remark, dusting a few remaining grains of sand off his shoulder. “I’ll say,” he breathed. “Too close.”

“Too close, indeed,” Draven snorted, though Anakin could sense his lifting mood. The general turned to him. “That was a good idea,” he acknowledged, “and that storm would have killed us before the TIEs could have gotten the chance if it weren’t for you. Thank you.”

Anakin’s brow lifted slightly and he shifted his weight between his feet. “You don’t need to thank me,” he started, eyes darting to the ground for a few seconds. “What matters is that we’re still alive.”

Aayla nodded, crossing her arms. “Captain, will you be able to take us back down to the city?”

Hondo looked momentarily alarmed. “Master Jedi, did I hear correctly that you want to go _back_ to the surface where you are being hunted?”

“Yes Captain.” Aayla didn’t hesitate. “We need to get to Saw Gerrera’s ship and split up. Half of us need to regroup with the alliance on Lehon, while the other half will go to Tatooine. We were hoping you might be able to take them there.”

Hondo was beginning to look a bit uneasy, and though he tried to mask it with his signature swagger, his hesitation was obvious to the Jedi. “I am eager to help you, but Tatooine, even for me—,” he gestured to himself for emphasis, “is quite . . . hostile. And given the damage to my ship, it is unlikely we will be able to properly defend ourselves should we need to.”

The crew looked amongst each other, silently observing the exchange. It was unlike Weequay pirates to stand apart from the debate; the comments whispered under their liquor-fouled breath and jeers in support for their captain were nowhere to be found, instead replaced by an unfamiliar quiet of a once merry band. Even the galaxy’s marauders had lost a part of their spirit.

“I cannot force you to aid us,” Aayla began, “You have already helped us a great deal and put yourselves in much danger for it, but our mission to Tatooine may be crucial to the downfall of the Emperor and the survival of the Republic. Please, will you help us?”

Hondo’s shoulders slumped lightly, his gaze flickering between Aayla and her companions. “I was never too concerned with the state of the Republic, nor the galaxy itself,” he sighed. “But it meant very much to a friend of mine — a friend of yours — and I suppose in times like these . . . ,” he looked to his crew for a moment, looking uncharacteristically sober. “In times like these, I would like to do right by him. There is not much else I can do.”

Aayla smiled softly. “That means a great deal, Captain Ohnaka.”

Hondo swatted at the air, his vibrant countenance returning. “Ah, do not think anything of it, Master Jedi,” the pirate answered, his gleeful persona bubbling back to the surface. “Just, when you do restore your Republic, I hope you will not be too eager to persecute us, uh — eccentric businessmen.”

Ventress squinted, tilting her head up skeptically. “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” she mumbled under her breath. Her tone was cynical, but there was humor behind her words.

“Well,” Hondo clapped his hands together, “Let us not waste time. Gerrera! Where do we find your ship?”

* * *

Touching down at one of the air ports where Saw had left his ship, the party allowed themselves a moment’s time to part ways.

“I will accompany you to Tatooine,” Ventress had told Anakin minutes before they landed. “I’m sure it’s changed since the last time you were there.”

“If you’re going then so am I,” Quinlan piped earnestly, coming up behind them to rest a hand on the Nightsister’s shoulder.

Ventress shook her head. “No,” she asserted, “You have to go with the others to find our remaining forces and regroup on Lehon. That’s where you’re needed most.”

Quinlan looked incredulous at first, but his expression quickly dissolved into a mellow half-smile. “But I just got you back,” he whispered, absently offering her his hands.

Ventress smiled back sympathetically, though she was resolved. She accepted his hands in hers. “I know. But we’ll see each other again soon, and by then, hopefully we’ll be a step closer to winning this war.”

Anakin had felt an odd sense of deja vu and melancholy watching the exchange. It was a conversation he and Padmé had had many times, mourning their lack of time and the obligations that called them away from one another. The words were not the same, but the emotions were, and Anakin gained the sensation of feeling like an intruder when the two of them embraced for what could very well be the last time. It was too painfully familiar now, and he looked away.

“I’ll come along too.”

Anakin turned around to see Draven striding forward as Asajj and Quinlan parted. “If anything happens, on Tatooine or wherever we head after, you’ll need an extra hand.”

“That reminds me,” Quinaln began, parting his robe to get to his belt. He plucked his lightsaber from where it hung at his hip and presented it to Asajj. “You’re not going to Tatooine, or anywhere else for that matter, without a way to defend yourself.”

She gave him a wry look. “I thought a Jedi was never defenseless. The Force is with them anywhere they go. Besides, I can’t take your lightsaber.”

“Yes you can,” Quinlan insisted. He gently grasped one of her hands with his free one, tenderly depositing the weapon in her palm and clasping her hands protectively over it. “If not to keep yourself out of danger, then at least to appease me. Please.”

The conversation eerily echoed the one Anakin and Padmé shared the morning of the Senate hostage crisis in the first year of the war. Him gifting her his lightsaber, her of course remaining practical and politely declining with the esteemed maturity that he had yet to reach. Anakin found himself lost in his memories, blissfully unaware when the ship finally touched down at the port.

They had precious little time to get off the planet. Their location had already been discovered, and if they were to keep their trail hidden they would need to tread quickly.

“Good luck to you all,” Anakin nodded to his comrades as they made their way off the ship entry ramp and towards Socorro’s hive of darkness and danger.

“There is no such thing as luck,” Master Rancisis replied hoarsely, a twinkle in his eye and a smile hidden beneath his unruly beard. “You must find Fulcrum before the Empire does,” he declared, his voice grating with age. “With the alliance scattered they may be one of our only chances for victory. I know you will not fail.”

Anakin stared solemnly back, faintly aware of a brisk breeze that ruffled his hair and sent goosebumps prickling along his neck.

“May the Force be with you,” Asajj said, quietly yet resolute.

“May the Force be with you,” Anakin echoed.

Quinlan, Rancisis and Aayla each gave curt nods in return.

“May the Force be with you,” Aayla murmured.

She held their eyes for a few moments longer before turning to follow her companions, disappearing under her hood into the throng of the thousands of faceless thieves and vagabonds.

* * *

Tatooine and Socorro were not far from one another, connected through a hyperspace lane known as the Triellus Trade Run. It was a name Anakin had become intimately familiar with in Mos Espa, having overheard it many times from the spacers who frequented the ports there.

It took a little less than a full day to reach the planet, and though Anakin had spent all that time anticipating arrival, the moment Tatooine burst into view after dropping out of hyperspace, he still felt unready. He supposed he always would.

They soared over the vastness of the desert, the light from the sunset causing the pale orange sand to bleed, turning a richer shade of vermilion. Mos Espa was dimly illuminated in the distance, nestled obstinately in the midst of the desert. Anakin could see smoke pouring out from somewhere within the city, fading from view quickly as the suns sank further into the horizon. Deep in his stomach he felt an odd sense of bitter nostalgia, though it was largely overshadowed by a looming cloud of anxiousness pervading his thoughts and scattering them, no matter how hard he tried to focus.

“It’s become somewhat of a war zone there.”

Anakin started, broken out of his daze.

Asajj was standing next to him, staring straight ahead at the city.

“What?”

“Mos Espa,” she answered, “I doubt it’s how you remember it.” She looked at him now. “Since the alliance established a small intelligence base here, the fighting between the criminal gangs and abolitionists has escalated. We began aiding freedom fighters in their efforts to emancipate the slaves on Tatooine, and Jabba, as well as most of the slavers, retaliated. Before I left, there wasn’t a day that went by without bloodshed.”

Anakin absorbed her words numbly. “It’s always been that way,” he croaked. “You just couldn’t always see it.”

Dark images flashed in his mind. Deep scars left by whips and bloodied wrists from the chains that bound hundreds of enslaved souls together in a morbid parade sometimes peeked through the fabric of a loose sleeve or tearing shirt, a silent reminder to all of their place and what would await them should they forget. 

Asajj stared at him for a moment, then nodded. She understood well enough.

Draven had stationed himself a ways apart from his comrades, silently keeping himself busy inspecting the state of his pistols and giving Hondo’s crew warning glances should they find his weapons _too_ curious and get just a bit too close.

Less than a mile from Mos Espa, the saucer landed in between two towering dunes, their long shadows cast over the ship.

“This is as far as I go,” Hondo informed them. “I am afraid that I do not have the luxury of waiting for nightfall for those Sand People to attack or Jawas to strip down my ship. It is time for us to part ways, I think. I wish you luck, Jedi.”

Anakin managed a smile, the glare of the suns caught in the corner of his eye. “Thank you, Hondo.”

“Thank you for your service,” Draven added, the edge in his voice diminished.

Asajj inclined her head in concurrence and the captain let his hands fall to his hips, a grin sneaking its way across his features.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he insisted, shooing them. “Go off and destroy the Empire and whatnot! Then we will drink to celebrate!”

The three companions glanced bemusedly at one another, nodded a last farewell to Hondo and started towards Mos Espa.

“And make sure you tell Kenobi I say hello!,” the pirate hollered behind them once they had gotten far away enough. “I would hate to do all these favors in his name and him never compensate me with a drink!”

* * *

The hike over the dunes to the city was a quiet one. There was no wind, no sign of Tuskens, even Draven offered little complaints as they trudged on, sand spilling into their boots. Every so often Anakin would turn around to scan the horizon to see if they were being tailed by opportunistic Sand People, but each time, there was nothing there but sky and sand. Strangely though, he couldn’t help the feeling that they were being watched. After turning for the last time to find an empty desert, Anakin told himself it was the prospect of being on Tatooine again that had him so antsy, and he forced himself to stop looking over his shoulder.

The outskirts of Mos Espa were just minutes away now, the earthy clay buildings tinted in faint pinks and oranges, the gentleness of the colors betraying their true rough exteriors and unsavory hospitalities.

“It feels like years since I’ve been here,” Asajj murmured as they strode cautiously through the settlements at the edge of the city. “It’s barely been a few months.”

The people were out, unbothered by the dying, though still searing heat and the incoming ice cold air that accompanied the rising moons at night. They were hardy, the most rugged and robust souls in the galaxy, and Anakin had to remind himself to watch where he stepped, captivated by the young children wrestling and running around unbothered in the sand. Whether or not they were slaves, he didn’t know, but for the moment, they seemed content, happy to be ignorant of what the next day might bring. He used to be like that.

As they ventured further Anakin recognized a familiar shamble of merchant stands, decorated in sand-scratched cloth and handmade trinkets that hung from the makeshift roofs. A number of old metal barrels and clay pots sat empty next to them, and Anakin remembered the days when they were filled with fruits and nuts, drying in the twin suns. This was the old woman, Jira’s market stand, now somberly lifeless, despite the activity that flourished around it.

A poor, yet kind woman, Jira was a friend to many of the youth who lived in this part of Mos Espa. Known to offer pallies to slave children without money and a great storyteller, Jira was much loved by the community, and especially by young Anakin himself. He recalled her signature tale of a peculiar protocol droid known as “Nobot” or “Ghost Droid”, that wandered about the city aimlessly, straying into the desert for some time before eventually coming back time and time again, no worse for wear. According to Jira, the unit was the only surviving witness of the murder of a young pregnant woman, replaying a recording of her death which was followed by a long period of static before the droid would restart the recording again. Its serial number had been scored off by blaster fire, preventing any identification, and even more mysterious, the droid was stained by dried blood. It was said that Tusken Raiders who attempted to shoot the desert wanderer would find their blasters jamming or backfiring, and swoop bike racers aiming to run it over would be deterred by sudden engine malfunction or loss of steering control. It was a well-known and captivating tale, and in hindsight, perhaps a deliberate momentary distraction from the real perils of Tatooine. Artificial fear to offset the anxiety from that which presented the true danger.

Anakin wondered what became of Jira, gazing upon the deserted food stand, the scent of bitter fruits and spices still hanging over the wood and strewn pots.

They continued treading over the dusty streets, the sky above them turning to a duller magenta as the stars began to sparkle into view. Following Asajj they rounded a corner to find a low-lying hut, the entrance covered by a large piece of textile fabric that bore the symbol of a single white circle. Anakin noticed the insignia was carved into the arch above where the cloth hung as well. It looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen it before.

Asajj approached the entryway, glancing back at Anakin and Draven. “Just wait here for now,” she ordered. “I don’t know what’s happened in my absence. Best to let me go in first.”

Draven’s brow furrowed. “Is this not a—,” he paused and lowered his voice, “A rebel base?”

“Abolitionist,” she answered. “They know the planet better than anyone. They’re our best bet of finding the missing part of Fulcrum’s map. Just stay put for now and try not to draw too much attention to yourself.”

With that she disappeared under the tarp, leaving the two men to hover outside. Draven shot Anakin an unsure look.

“I trust her,” the Jedi said automatically, surprised by his immediate reaction. He trusted her. Asajj Ventress. It was an odd realization. He didn’t question it though. She had put her faith in him, the least he could do was return her confidence.

Draven sighed. “If you say so.”

Not a moment later Anakin sensed a sudden tremor in the Force, followed quickly by his feet being kicked out from under him, the general falling to the same treatment a second later. Once he hit the ground, Anakin grabbed his lightsaber from his belt, rolling on his back and using the momentum to get back to his feet, facing his attacker. 

They were surrounded by three individuals, all clad in hoods and junk-welded armor and carrying large slugthrowers. One of them was pointing one at a still dazed Draven’s head, holding it menacingly still. The other two encircled Anakin, the one closest to him shoving her gun up into his face. He noticed the white circle symbol engraved on the shoulder pad she sported, though his eyes were drawn back to her obscured face when she stepped forward.

“Who are you?,” she seethed, and with a start Anakin realized he recognized the voice. “What are you doing hanging around here, huh?”, the girl questioned, her tone becoming more aggressive. She had a cloth wrapped around her head, covering the lower half of her face, but when the rising wind pushed her hood back a bit, Anakin’s suspicions were confirmed. He could see pale blue eyes that shimmered in the suns’ dying light and dirty blond hair that was pulled into two tight buns on either side of her head, a few stray hairs stubbornly fraying out.

“ _Beru?,_ ” he asked.

Her eyes widened, her hostile stance dissolving as her shoulders drooped and she tilted her head in disbelief. She looked as if she was about to say something when Asajj burst out of the hut in a rush.

Seeing the slugthrowers aimed at her companions, she quickly jumped between them. “Woah, woah, woah. Put those things down before you hurt someone!,” she coaxed the hooded figures. “They’re friends.”

“You know these people?,” Draven glared incredulously, dusting sand off himself as he stood back up.

“They’re freedom fighters,” Asajj answered curtly, turning back to Beru and her comrades. “This is General Davits Draven and Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.”

Beru’s expression once again became mystified, lowering her hood and mask to scrutinize Anakin intensely. “Skywalker?,” she repeated.

Anakin, still bewildered by the sight of his sister-in-law, faltered. There were so many things he found he wanted to ask upon recognizing her, torn that this was not the Beru he knew. A bewildered, “Yes,” was all he could manage.

“Hmm,” she murmured to herself, her gaze lingering on him a bit longer before returning to Asajj and breaking into a smile. “You came back.”

The Nightsister nodded warmly, quickly embracing Beru as the other woman stepped forward to hug her tightly. “I did,” Asajj said, releasing her, “And it seems not a moment too soon.”

“I’m sure we have plenty to talk about,” Beru affirmed, “But not out here. C’mon.” She slung the slugthrower over her back and moved towards the hut entryway, parting the hanging cloth and turning back to them, sparing another curious glance at Anakin. “I’ll take you to Abaadh Vokar.” She disappeared under the draped cloth, followed by her comrades.

Anakin turned to Asajj. “Abaadh Vokar?”

The name was assembled from words rooted in Tatooine’s slave dialect, a language constructed from a smattering of Huttese and a number of other diverse vocabularies that arrived on the planet with the living cargo. Anakin’s mother tongue.

Loosely translated into Basic, the name meant Unbound Walker.

A freeman, as an emancipated slave was otherwise known to those still in bondage. One who walked not upon the earth, unencumbered by the sand and the dust, but in the sky, their spirit lifted with their chains. Old storytellers and wanderers often said that once a slave was freed, their soul was so lightened that their feet no longer touched the ground. They were no longer bound to the planet, free to fly away to a place that was green and abundant with life.

Asajj studied Anakin’s face. “The leader of the free Tatooine movement,” she answered. “The one who united the freedom fighters against the Hutts, not just on Tatooine, but across several planets in the Outer Rim. The Liberator.”

“That’s quite the resume,” Draven stated dryly when Anakin offered no comment.

Asajj rolled her eyes, about to retort when Beru poked her head out from the hut expectantly.

“Aren’t you coming?,” she gestured inside. She looked at Anakin. “Abaadh will want to meet you. Night will fall soon, c’mon, we can’t waste time.” She disappeared inside again, the drape flapping behind her.

Anakin shot Asajj a questioning glance but she was already heading down the stairs to slip into the hovel. “You heard her,” she said, drawing aside the cloth. “Let’s go.”

Draven sauntered after her, Anakin falling in a step behind. Before ducking inside, he spared a glimpse at the now softly glowing slave quarters sequestered along the ridge, hundreds of tiny huts sitting atop one another, small yellow lights seeping out from the cracked windows and doorways, invitations to anyone left out in the cold. He sighed, absently reaching for the spot at his temple where his transmitter chip used to be.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a familiar silhouette, standing far away in the distance in the glowing doorway of the slave quarters staring back at him. Anakin blinked, and it was gone, leaving no evidence that it had ever been there.

He shook his head, halfway convinced his evasion of sleep was beginning to creep up on him.

Taking one last scan of his surroundings, Anakin vanished under the draped fabric after his companions, eager to escape the sharp chill of Tatooine’s night air and the visions plaguing him.

* * *


	14. Lines in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I last updated, and it was never my intention to let the period between posting last this long, I’ve gone through a pretty major transition in the past two months, but I want to thank all of you for your patience and support. Your comments and kind words have meant the world to me, and I am so grateful to you for reading. I have further notes at the end of the chapter, but for now please enjoy. Thank you again.  
> 

Beru informed them that they would lay low until it was darker out. It would be dangerous to linger waiting for the suns to sink, and, as she had put it, the light would only make their shadows longer. Under the cover of darkness, they wouldn’t attract so much attention, especially given how out of place the three of them so obviously were. A Jedi, a general, and an . . . _ex-Sith assassin? Reformed Jedi? Ex-bounty hunter?_ Anakin wasn’t really sure what to call Ventress, but it was apparent she blended in no better than he and Draven.

“So,” Beru started, as soon as she finished explaining their plan. “Why did you come back to Tatooine?” Her curious gaze lingered on Ventress.

“I wish I could say I’ve returned to help you,” Asajj answered for them, sounding genuinely regretful. “But I’m afraid we’re on the brink of losing this war, and the only key to our survival is somewhere on this planet.”

Beru cocked her head and glanced at her companions. “What is it that you’re looking for?”

“Do you remember an agent I mentioned once or twice before, Fulcrum?”

A flash of recognition swept across the girl’s face for a fleeting moment before it regained its neutral expression.

“I do.”

“Well, they’ve revealed they know the key to displacing the Emperor and winning this war, but it seems they’ll only reveal this information in person. The only clue to wherever that is is here.”

Beru looked engaged in thought for a few seconds as Ventress explained their mission. She studied them for a moment before releasing a sigh.

“The truth is,” she began, “there are already other rebels here who have come from offworld. They came talking of the same message that you are now.”

“What?,” Draven interjected. “Where are they?”

Beru shook her head. “They’ve already left Mos Espa. All I know is they tried to make contact with your forces on Ryloth and reach whatever Jedi was there. That’s when they got caught up in a firefight with the Hutts, but they’re long gone now. If I had to guess they’re probably on their way to or are already at Mos Entha.”

Draven turned to Anakin and Asajj. “Then we need to find them immediately,” he pressed.

“What we need,” Ventress countered, “is to find the next part of Fulcrum’s map.”

“That’s exactly why we have to catch them. With a larger force we’ll be able to better protect ourselves and cover more ground!”

“Listen to me,” Ventress asserted, her voice cool and still. “Beru is already taking us to meet Abaadh Vokar. If anyone knows this planet it’s them. They’re our best chance to find any trace of Fulcrum. That’s our priority.”

Draven didn’t seem to be wholly satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t debate, instead conceding with a quiet, “Alright.”

“Speaking of,” Beru piped, “It looks like it’s time to go.”

The suns had sunken far beneath the horizon when they emerged from the shieling, replaced by the three moons, Ghomrassen, Guermessa and Chenini. An old folk tale Anakin had heard often as a child claimed that the moons were a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter respectively. Long ago, when night on Tatooine was pitch-dark, they had each walked the desert sands as mortals, each generation having been slaves. All of them were the property of one household, and one day, the grandmother became very ill. She was too sick to work, and though her daughter pleaded for her mother’s life, their master took her into the desert to die, leaving her behind to the Tuskens and the sand. The next night however, for the first time, a moon appeared in Tatooine’s sky, lighting a safe path through the wasteland for the mother to escape with her daughter. That night, they snuck from the master’s home, but they were followed, and the mother allowed herself to be killed so her daughter could escape. The daughter wandered the desert for the next day alone, when at nightfall, a second moon materialized, once more lighting a path through the desert. After another nine days and nights of following the path, the daughter, Chenini, discovered what was said to be Tatooine’s last oasis. She collapsed on the bank and died of exhaustion soon after. From her body sprouted new trees and desert flowers, swelling the oasis and turning it into a sanctuary. That night she reunited with her mother and grandmother and a third moon joined the others in the sky. Now, the moons are said to lead slaves to the last great oasis of the Dune Sea to save them from the wrath of the desert and their masters.

Anakin pondered the story. He had heard it from Jira, from his mother, and it was repeated by the slave children in the quarters many a time. You had to be careful not to let the masters hear you tell it — they often disliked such stories — and they had reveled in possessing a secret, _possessing anything_ , that the masters did not own themselves. It was a strange kind of autonomy. They were children, they had the least independence of anyone on Tatooine, especially given they were slaves, but there was little else more empowering to a slave child than doing explicitly what the masters had told you _not_ to do. That was why they had told it to each other so many times. More than the story itself it was _disobedience_ , the courage to cross the line, as Guermessa did with her daughter that night, that inspired them.

Disobedience was not so admirable in the Jedi Temple, however. Anakin had learned that quickly. It was shameful, and just as punishable as it was on Tatooine. They had expected it from him, he knew, but that didn’t mean the early reprimands hadn’t stung like the lashes back home.

A touch on the shoulder abruptly pulled Anakin from his memories and he turned his head to find Ventress walking beside him. Even in the dark her gaze was piercing, and Anakin had to steel himself for a second before he could speak.

“What?”

Ventress inclined her head towards Beru, who was a few feet ahead, leading them through the streets. “You know her,” she whispered. “How?”

“How did you know that?,” Anakin whispered back incredulously.

“I had a feeling. You didn’t answer my question.”

Anakin sighed, eyes swiveling away from Ventress’s. “She’s my sister-in-law.”

“You have a brother?”

“Step-brother.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not actually.”

“What are you two talking about?”

Draven had joined in on their conversation now, looking over his shoulder with a quizzical look on his face.

“ _Nothing_ ,” they hissed simultaneously.

He looked between each of them skeptically.

“Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“It’s none of your business,” Anakin snapped, perhaps a little too quickly, and Draven raised an eyebrow. “Sorry,” he apologized, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

Ventress suddenly sucked in her breath and slowly tilted her head around to face Anakin again. “Your brother is _Owen!_ ,” she proclaimed in a hushed drawl. It was a miracle Beru didn’t hear.

“Who?,” Draven asked.

“How is it that the two of you are related?”

“We’re not, he’s my step-brother.”

“You have a brother?,” Draven cut in.

Anakin groaned. “My mother married a moisture farmer named Cliegg Lars, Owen’s father. That makes Owen my step-brother and Beru my sister-in-law. Are we clear now?”

“Interesting,” Ventress whispered to herself, some mirth gracing her features at Anakin’s annoyance.

“Yes, well now that we all know my family history are we done?”

“Here we are,” Beru declared, unknowingly interrupting their repartee. She turned back to them, motioning towards the structure behind her. It was an unusually large-scale building for Mos Espa’s standards, with a high, domed roof and a number of what seemed to be added on walls and extraneous structures. Anakin noticed a hooded figure seated at the base of the dome-cap, slugthrower in hand, ready to defend the complex from potential intruders. Beru lowered her own hood and waved to the lookout, who quickly waved back and pressed a finger to what must have been an earpiece.

A moment or two later one of the two entrance doors opened slightly with a heavy groan, and to Anakin’s complete disbelief, Owen Lars emerged. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ventress fail to suppress a smirk.

“Speaking of the Kath hound . . .”

“Just save it.”

Beru swiftly ushered them inside, inserting herself at their flank to herd them in faster and watch for any unseen threats behind them. She shut the door behind her and pulled her mask from her face. As soon as she did Owen wasted no time in rushing to her side.

“Beru!,” he exclaimed, giving her a concerned glance-over.

Beru gave him a lopsided smile, a light exasperation lifting the few lines on her face. “Owen!,” she exclaimed back, mimicking his tone. She tilted her head at him wearily, but warmly. “Don’t fret, I’m fine,” she reassured, a hint of sternness in her voice. She pecked him on the cheek. “Where’s Vokar?”

“Oh no, I’m very alright, thank you”, was Owen’s sardonic answer. His countenance shifted, turning behind him. “Why do you want to see Vokar? Who’ve you br — Asajj!”

Ventress hummed quietly, amused, and nodded back to him. “Hello, Lars.”

“Wh — you — you’re back!”

“I’m flattered someone noticed.”

Anakin looked between the two of them as they continued their exchange. He felt odd watching two people who never should have met speaking like they knew each other better than Anakin knew his own brother. He supposed soberly, perhaps that was the case.

“Who are these two?,” Owen suddenly motioned towards him and Draven. Anakin involuntarily stiffened under his gaze.

“Rebels,” Ventress answered before her companions could open their mouths.

“Ah,” the farmer-turned-soldier said, scrutinizing the men before him. “What is it that you need from Vokar?”

“That,” Draven dictated, “is classified. The details are none of your concern.”

Ventress rolled her eyes.

“Anything you need from Abaadh Vokar is everyone’s concern around here,” Owen bit back, narrowing his eyes as Draven straightened. He glanced at Ventress. “How do we know this schutta isn’t an Imperial spy? He certainly talks like one.”

“He’s _not_ a spy,” Ventress cut in, pushing the two men away from one another. “Trust me, I would have gutted him by now if that was the case.”

Draven made a face at that, but Ventress silenced him again with a glare of her own.

“We’re running on borrowed time at the moment, and we’re in need of any assistance you can spare. We came seeking Vokar’s wisdom,” she continued, turning back to Owen and Beru. “There’s something on this planet we need to find, and we don’t know where to begin.”

As Ventress explained their mission, Anakin noticed his sister out of the corner of his eye, staring curiously at him. An unreadable expression masked her face, and Anakin instinctively reached out in the Force to discern what she was thinking. Her thoughts were muddled somewhat, but from her emanated a steady stream of intrigue, and beneath it, uncertainty. A thought crossed Anakin’s mind. Did . . . did she know? Beru quickly realized that he had noticed her, and she immediately returned her gaze to Ventress’s face, her eyes hard, acting as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll take you to h— Vokar,” she volunteered, nodding at the Nightsister, clearly trying to hide that she was put-off by being discovered.

“Beru—,” Owen started.

“Where are they, Owen?,” she cut him off.

He sighed. “The sick area. They’ve just come back from a raid. They’re helping with removing transmitter chips.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if they’ll be so eager to see you though, we just got rebels out of our hair. I’m not sure Vokar will be so thrilled to get into another brawl with the Hutts over a few more.”

Beru risked another glance at Anakin and looked back to Owen. “Trust me, it’s . . . important. Okay? I’ll see you around.” She left him with her companions and a dismissing nod of her head, signaling the offworlders to follow. Owen looked on their trailing forms for a moment longer before heading his own way.

* * *

Beru led them through the stronghold swiftly, Ventress just behind her hip. Anakin had to admire the complexity of the operation they had established there, taking notice of the stocked weaponry, organized militia groups, and the sheer size of the institution. When he was young he had heard stories about raids on smaller Hutt estates and docking ships carrying slaves to Tatooine, but he never could have imagined anything of this scale.

They soon rounded a corner to enter a wide-spaced room, the floor lined with bantha skin wraps and traditionally woven rugs to seat patients seeking rest or medical attention. A few low-raised beds scattered the area, looking just as humble and uncomfortable as those in the Jedi Temple.

Inside were several exhausted looking people — men, women, and children — being tended to by individuals dressed similarly to Beru, who went off to search for Vokar. They were slaves, or newly liberated slaves, being looked over for injuries, signs of disease or any untreated infections. On the bed nearest to the entrance, a Cathar woman clenched her leg in pain as a human woman cut into her thigh with a small knife.

“What is she _doing?_ ,” Draven stressed, evidently alarmed.

“Her chip’s in her leg,” Anakin answered automatically. The dullness with which he spoke gave him pause for a moment.

“Her what?,” Draven asked.

“Her transmitter chip. All slaves have one.” The image of Vokara Che slicing a sterilized knife into his head in the Halls of Healing flashed hotly in his mind.

“If you try to run, they can track you. If you try to fight back, they detonate you,” Ventress added darkly. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. “It’s insurance.”

Draven said nothing as the small explosive device emerged from the woman’s leg, poetically coated and dripping with blood.

A high-pitched beeping suddenly interrupted the ill quiet, ringing in Anakin’s ears as another memory boiled to the surface of his thoughts. The suns glaring harshly, a girl screaming for her life, and the sound of a terrible explosion, staining the sands a sickening crimson. The sight of a person, alive and in front of him a moment before, suddenly and unceremoniously gone, with only the smell of smoke and charred flesh remaining.

Someone’s chip was about to detonate.

Alarm swept through the patients and soldiers alike, fearful eyes racing to the center of the room where a young human child began to screech in terror. Without thinking, Anakin jumped to intervene, his feet guiding the rest of him before his mind had a chance to dictate his course of action. The girl was in tears by the time he arrived, seated before a heavily cloaked figure with a staff hanging over their back, who, Anakin realized as he reached the side of the bed, was veiled in an elaborate durasteel mask scored by the sands and suns. Abaadh Vokar.

“I can help,” he informed the figure urgently.

They merely nodded and stepped out of his way, Beru just a few feet behind.

The girl was still crying as Anakin knelt down, and he projected reassurance through the Force to try and calm her. He remembered Obi-Wan doing the same for him as Master Che’s blade dipped into his skin and began to draw blood, holding his hand promisingly as Anakin tightly squeezed it back. The girl hiccupped, whimpering as he tapped her shoulder assuringly, the beeping becoming faster in tempo. They didn’t have much time.

“Mai katar ver surak’shi,” he whispered encouragingly to her, hoping she would understand. _I promise you’ll be safe._

That seemed to pacify her for now and Anakin directed his attention to the transmitter that was still half-lodged in her arm, blood seeping from the freshly opened wound. If he tried to get the chip out of her first he would never have time to disarm it. The only option was to try and disable it before it reached its automatic countdown. He reached for the knife still sitting on the mattress’s edge and carefully dug it into the seam between the metal outer shell coverings that protected the chip’s interior.

The girl muffled a yelp and bit her lip as Anakin peeled one half of the shell off of the transmitter and out of her arm, dripping some blood on the wiring. He was already intimately familiar with such circuitry, and over the course of the war he had become significantly more engaged in bomb deactivation and handling explosives than he had been during his childhood with individual tinkering.

He shot the girl another reassuring glance before using the knife to dig and cut through specific wires to gain access to the bomb’s core without detonating it. The beeping's pace was continuing to increase now, and Anakin became cognizant of sweat trailing down his face. _Almost there_ , he urged himself, slicing through another wire to expose the core.

“Alright,” he gasped, moving to dismantle it from the shell of the chip. The beeping was reaching a pitch now, and as soon as he was able to remove it, Anakin jammed the knife into the center of the nucleus of the transmitter. It short-circuited immediately, letting out one last pitiful whine before the beeping ceased. Everyone held their breath. Once Anakin exhaled, he felt the rest of the room follow suit, and he dropped the bomb core to finish pulling the shell from the young girl’s arm.

A man Anakin guessed must have been her father rushed to cradle her as another abolitionist medic handed him some clean cloth to bandage her arm. As he finished twisting the material around the gash, he noticed Vokar approach him out of his peripheral.

He stood, somewhat hastily, expectant and unsure of what to say. Now that they were both standing face-to-face, Anakin could see fully the figure before him, densely coated in coarse cloth that hung over aged welded armor. Wrapped loosely around their neck was a dulled maroon scarf that laid over a mane of white-dyed bantha hair, which fell messily over the armor and hung down over Vokar’s chest. Two necklaces dangled from around their shoulders; one was a thick cord of leather adorned with what Anakin quickly realized were numerous teeth, likely from a bonegnawer, a bird of prey from the Jundland Wastes. A gleaming green stone hung from the center of the cord, and upon closer inspection, Anakin recognized it as a Krayt Dragon pearl, an incredibly valuable and sought-after object that was found only in the gizzard of Krayt dragons. How Vokar had acquired it, he had no idea. The raised jerba cord above was far more curious, however. From the thread hung multiple japor snippets, all individually patterned and carved. Anakin couldn’t begin to imagine where they’d all come from, but he didn’t have long to ponder it, his gaze drifting back to Vokar’s enigmatic mask.

The headpiece had a distinctive downward slope, engulfing Vokar’s entire head and culminating in an angular, muzzle-like point, where two slender spines jutted out from either side. More spines adorned the edges of the mask, peaking at the top where four antler-like protrusions extended from the summit of the head on each side. They seemed to mimic the horns of the Greater Krayt Dragon, invoking the image of Tatooine’s fiercest beast. Some string had been tied around the two greater horns, dangling small beads that had been threaded through the material. A slitted visor welded into the rest of the mask marked Vokar’s eyeline, and above that was painted crudely, but purposefully, the image of the twin suns. To the rest of the galaxy, they were simply known as Tatoo I and Tatoo II. To the slaves of Tatooine they were Taayememaut and Ayuc, the eyes of their deity, an unseeable presence guiding each and every life that struggled against the severity and cruelty of the desert. Only visible through its resplendent, blinding eyes, it was known by thousands of names, most common to the slaves was Ab’atat. Not long after arriving at the Temple, Anakin suspected that the Force was but another. Ayuc was painted high at the center of Vokar’s forehead, and Taayememaut rested just above their brow.

Anakin was held by the sight of the figure before him, caught off guard when they finally spoke.

“Mes amerwas outmian aiv ael. E’bedd as okra.” _We are indebted to you, stranger. Thank you._

Anakin was unable to discern whether the voice behind the shell of the mask was that of a man or woman. A modulator altered the vocals, giving them a noticeable base, and the sounds were not pronounced as crisply as those delivered by Darth Ignavus. Anakin absently wondered what the purpose of the disguise could be, but he was slightly distracted by being spoken to in a language he hadn’t heard in nearly two decades. It was . . . surreal.

After being accepted into the Order, Anakin had stopped speaking it all together. He was supposed to let go of the past, and he feared the repercussions that could arise if anyone heard him talking in anything other than Basic, especially Obi-Wan or one of the High Council masters. Anything reminiscent of Tatooine, or the Outer Rim, or the world outside the Jedi Temple was something that had to be shed. His accent was the only thing he couldn’t shake, and though he had abandoned everything else, his age mates had never let him forget about it. After a while Anakin had just stopped speaking in their presence, or as much as he could help it. He thought he might have forgotten his mother tongue after all this time, but he was surprised how easily it came back to him, how smoothly the words left his lips.

“Tex’atil, d’men ulmel i’kra undeg,” he stuttered, a bashful hint of a smile resting on his face. _Please, it is_ I _who is in_ your _service._

Vokar titled their head to the side curiously, studying him for a moment before turning back around to seek out Beru behind them, who was now joined by Ventress and Draven.

“Beru,” they called, a warmth gracing their voice through the modulator, strangely echoing a memory Anakin couldn’t place. “I believe you meant to introduce me to your companion before,” Vokar continued before catching sight of Ventress beside her. “Asajj Ventress,” they greeted cordially. “It is good to see you. Have you found your people?”

Anakin assumed Vokar must have been referring to her mission to Vanquor.

“Abaadh Vokar,” Ventress nodded back respectfully. “I’m afraid it seems that I am still the last of my sisters . . . but after all this time, I do believe that I’ve found my people again in the inhabitants of the desert.”

Vokar inclined their chin. “All those freed from bondage are my people and yours. I am honored to be one of them.”

“As am I.”

“Now then,” Vokar began, “what assistance can I provide for the Rebel Alliance? I’m sure Beru has already informed you that a few of your companions were here in Mos Espa not long ago. Do you need transport to reach them?”

Ventress shook her head. “Actually, we came to Tatooine seeking your help. It . . . may change the course of the war.”

Vokar looked to Beru, who nodded, and they waved a hand. “Follow me,” they commanded, turning out of the sick bay.

Trekking through the base once more, Anakin and Draven lingered at the back of their small caravan behind Ventress and Beru, who walked side-by-side before them.

“Strange people, aren’t they?,” Draven muttered to Anakin, eyeing Vokar’s horned head a few feet ahead of them.

Anakin furrowed his brow. “No. They do what they have to do to survive.”

Draven noticed the edge in his voice, though he didn’t show it. “By dressing up?,” he questioned. “What do they have to hide?”

Anakin huffed. “Maybe that’s none of your business. Who knows? All I know is that the people of Tatooine are better for it, and that’s enough for me.”

Draven didn’t answer, and Anakin suspected he was remembering his speech back on Dantooine.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I— I apologize.”

Anakin sighed, feeling awkward now as Draven asked him to pardon his callousness. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he responded. “These people have had a hard life, words are past the point of hurting them.”

That was a lie, Anakin knew, but it seemed enough to sate Draven’s conscience as they arrived at Vokar’s quarters. They had climbed to the highest level of the fortress, likely just below the roof, reaching a compact space humbly decorated with dried hanging nuts that gave off a distinct bitter smell, and traditionally woven Tatooinian rugs that swung from their colorful canopy above in the light breeze that arrived through the window.

“Please sit,” Vokar urged them, closing the door. “You must be weary from your journey.”

“You have no idea,” Draven muttered, seating himself down on the dust floor beside his companions.

“You have brought strange company, Asajj,” Vokar said, an air of intrigue flowing from their modulated voice. “An outsider, and one who seems to have left the desert long ago, yet still speaks our tongue.”

Anakin swallowed as Vokar looked pointedly at him, returning the unblinking stare of the mask.

“You were a slave.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I was,” he answered, hoping Vokar wouldn’t sense the dryness in his throat.

They inclined their head as Beru shifted beside them, looking vaguely anxious as she fidgeted.

“As was I,” Vokar replied steadily. “And that is why I became Abaadh Vokar. To free those in bondage and bring hope to those who have none. The people have given me many names; Hodegetria, Umm Nur, Eleousa, Mustafia, they are but a few, though all mean the same thing to the ones who speak them. As this face does to all who see it. They are an echo of hope, of freedom, promises I intend to fulfill.”

Beru continued to look warily between Vokar and Anakin, clenching and unclenching her fists as the figure beside her spoke further.

“That is why I have been given these,” Vokar continued, motioning to the several japor snippets that clung to the jerba cord falling around their shoulders and over their chest. “They are symbols of gratitude, and thus reminders to me of my mission. When I see them, I see the faces of those that have been freed and the new life Ab’atat has granted them.”

The japor snippet Anakin had carved for Padmé all those years ago had served a similar purpose in his young self’s mind. True, it was a token of himself that he hoped would keep him alive in her memory once they were separated, but it was also a gift, a small keepsake in return for giving him his freedom.

“But tell me,” Vokar started, interrupting his thoughts. “What is it that I may call you?”

Anakin breathed in and began to open his mouth, but before he could answer, Beru suddenly stood and blurted, “He says his name is Skywalker.”

Vokar instantly straightened, an uncomfortable quiet settling in over them. The masked figure gazed at Anakin for a few tense moments as he glanced at Beru in confusion before turning back to the liberator. To all of their shock, Vokar moved to shed the mask from their head, lifting the durasteel earnestly so they could see with their own eyes.

Anakin looked on in uncertainty as they did so before his mind went blank. He felt his stomach drop into his feet as his mouth fell agape, his shock and disbelief flooding into the Force as Ventress raised her shields to defend herself. For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

“Skywalker?,” the now untouched voice, clearly female, asked, cautiously hesitant.

Anakin struggled to answer, to form a coherent thought, to believe that what lay before his eyes was even real. A few feet in front of him, close enough to touch if he reached out far enough, was the face of Shmi Skywalker.

On either side of him, Draven and Ventress glanced at one another in concern, but Anakin didn’t notice. He was too busy grappling with his mind in order to give a response.

“I . . . I — yes, that’s my name.”

The words _You’re supposed to be dead_ echoed hauntingly in his head, hovering dangerously over his lips.

Across from him, Shmi studied his face, narrowing her eyes in contemplation as she appeared to try to piece the root of his sudden discomposure.

“Anakin,” he clarified, feeling utterly empty. _The name you gave me._ “Anakin Skywalker.”

Shmi’s eyes widened further, raising her head as if to get a better look at him, her forearm leaning on her helmet. No one said anything as Anakin and Shmi stared at one other in uncertainty.

After a moment, Shmi inhaled sharply and asked, “Who _are_ you?”

Anakin found his gaze falling, discomfort filling his vision as the impossible face of his mother stared back waiting for an answer.

“I’m a Jedi,” he said, knowing it wasn’t the answer she was searching for, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Or at least I used to be.”

Shmi continued to study him, and Anakin felt like a rat under her gaze. The sharp guilt radiating off of him must have been obvious to the others, but for what reason it had suddenly emerged was a mystery to them.

Abruptly, Shmi stood, redonning her mask. “Follow me,” she instructed, her familiar voice warped again by the harshness of the modulator.

Without another word Anakin hesitantly moved to follow her, glancing back at his friends one last time before treading after his mother out the door.

* * *

Anakin silently followed in Shmi’s footsteps out through an alternate exit from the stronghold, his mind still whirling and stagnant at the same time. Ventress was already one face he had encountered back from the dead; he thought the shock of seeing her once again was something he had acclimated to, but he had never even _considered_ . . .

Shmi led him past the outer walls as dawn began to trickle in, reaching the edge of the Dune Sea as the glow of the stars began to fade. She stopped at an old moisture vaporator that marked the divide between civilization and the territory of the Sand People deep in the desert. Sighing, she looked out on the horizon before them, dunes stretching into oblivion beneath the moons. Anakin followed her gaze, caught off guard once again by the removal of her mask. Shmi let it fall softly on the sand next to her feet, keeping her eyes in front of her.

“I almost can’t remember the time before I came here,” she murmured. “It was a lifetime ago.”

She didn’t have to tell him. He was already painfully aware of her history. He only wished her story hadn’t ended so tragically.

“I was born here,” he replied quietly, almost afraid to speak at all.

She finally turned from the dunes. “You were?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Anakin could see the guilt buried deep within his mother’s eyes when he was a child. He knew that, while she loved him fiercely, she knew she bore a child into a life of chains, servitude, and bombs under the skin. It was a burden she had put on herself, and one she bore heavily. After all, there was no father.

He felt he had to tell her he never blamed her.

“Still,” she continued, “no child deserves this life. To be claimed by the desert would be a mercy.”

The image of Shmi in the Tusken camp, bleeding and barely clinging to life blazed in Anakin’s mind before he forced it out, only for it to be replaced by the raider’s bodies littered in the sand. _Mercy._

“I know that you are a noble man,” Shmi asserted, looking back to him again.

Anakin struggled to erase the images behind his eyes. “How do you know that?,” he croaked, the question coming out broken and pathetic.

“Because you saved that child’s life today without a second thought,” she answered assuredly. “And I’ve heard stories of the Jedi, of their virtues and sacrifice. And I trust Asajj with my life, and she seems to trust you. That is enough for me.”

Anakin searched for the words to respond. “I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just, you — you remind me of someone I used to know.”

Shmi looked thoughtful. “Are they gone now?,” she asked gently.

Anakin couldn’t look at her. “A long time ago,” he breathed, his voice threatening to tremble.

“How did they die?”

Such a question wasn’t so insensitive on Tatooine. Life was short and words were blunt.

“She was killed by a b— by a monster.” He felt the word fall heavily from his mouth and nearly drag him down with it. He had killed her. And then cemented his monstrousness by killing hundreds more.

His mother, dead. Each and every Tusken, dead. His men on the battlefield, his fellow Jedi, Dooku, more and more bodies fell, all to sate his suffering. Only to leave him emptier than before.

“I’m sorry.”

His mother’s voice shattered the veil he had pulled over himself and he blinked, trembling.

“I truly am. Even after all this time with death on my shoulder, it doesn’t get easier. I don’t know if as a Jedi you can—”

“I may be the only Jedi who understands,” he said sadly, wishing he could manage a smile for at least a few seconds more to preserve the illusion.

Shmi managed one for him. “Then we are of the same mind.”

Some pink light crept into the sky now, heralding the arrival of the suns.

His mother sighed again. “I thought I was the only Skywalker in the galaxy,” she said. “I was separated from my parents before I was ten years old. They both would have perished by now. A long, long time ago.” She let the quiet filter between them, a moment of shared silence for those they had lost. “Tell me,” she inquired, “did your mother ever tell you the meaning of your name?”

Anakin shifted his feet in the sand. “She once told me it meant . . . a kind of promise of tomorrow. Luck, a chance that I might live to see the next sunrise.”

“That’s true,” Shmi said, pensive. “You know Ab’atat has many names — more names even than me,” she chuckled, the sound dry and quiet. “And you know Ab'atat has lined a predestined path for each of us.”

Anakin nodded, willing her to continue.

“One of her names, it has a specific meaning to those who refer to them as such. It means fate.” She paused, as if considering her next words with care. “It means one who spins and cuts the thread. Ananke.” Shmi smiled. “It seemed your mother wanted you to choose your own destiny. Perhaps she foresaw your escape from slavery and named you accordingly.”

If he had it in him, Anakin supposed he would have laughed. “She was right,” he murmured, once more trying and failing to smile.

“I won’t press you further about your past,” she said with gentle conviction. “We both carry the same burden, but that is something behind us, and what is important is our present. When you are ready you may tell me, or you may not. For now, I am simply happy to have found another of my people. That is why I want to give you this.”

She gingerly plucked a japor snippet from the wreath hanging around her neck, caressing it between her fingers fondly before presenting it to him.

“I made this many years ago in the hope of giving it to my family. I see now that Ananke has brought me you, and for that, I am grateful.”

Anakin sighed wetly, finally managing to uphold the corners of his cracked lips in gratitude. “As am I,” he agreed, accepting the trinket as gently as he could manage.“Thank you . . . Shmi. Thank you.”

A brief expression he couldn’t place flared across her features for a moment, but it was gone so quickly Anakin wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

She nodded in return, bending down to retrieve her mask. The sky was beginning to lighten more now, and once Shmi had refastened the helmet over her head, she nodded once more. “Let’s head back,” she urged, and they were on their way.

* * *

They found Beru, Ventress, and Draven in one of the empty chambers that must have served as a lavish court hall in the stronghold’s past life. They were waiting patiently for them around a recently and hastily installed holotable, the holocron they had received from Master Rancisis opened before them.

“So this is a Jedi holocron,” Shmi observed, holding out a hand to graze the glowing cerulean image of Tatooine floating above the cube.

“Another one is located here on the planet, but we couldn’t begin to pinpoint where we should start looking, and we don’t have the time to comb the entire desert,” Ventress explained. “You know Tatooine better than anyone else. What do you suggest?”

Shmi tilted her head, looking from the planet to Ventress. “Any and all new information that comes to Tatooine filters through the Whiphid crime lord Lady Valarian’s palace in Mos Entha. If there’s been any word of a Jedi artifact that’s where we’ll hear it. Conveniently, Mos Entha’s where your other rebel friends were headed — the rest of your forces relocated there after the fighting here escalated a few months ago. They were especially eager to move out after that shootout.”

“So is that our best bet of finding the holocron?,” Draven prodded.

Shmi crossed her arms. “It’s your only bet.”

Ventress waved a hand and closed the holocron, recalling it to her with the Force. “It’s settled then,” she declared. “Would you be able to provide us transport to get there?”

“I’ll take you there myself,” Shmi asserted. “We’ll take a few men with us. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t long before they were speeding across the sand, the suns high in the sky now as they raced between the rock ridges and dunes in a pack of landspeeders and speeder bikes. Anakin sat behind Ventress on a bike he speculated was older than him, trying his best to keep his hair out of his face as they blazed forward.

Sometime before the midway point of their journey Ventress piped up. “So,” she started, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the engine. “Beru and Owen aren’t the only ones here you’re acquainted with.”

“What do you mean?,” Anakin shot back. He knew exactly what she meant, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to talk about it with Ventress. He trusted her, but she wasn't exactly someone he felt he could spill himself to.

“You know Abaadh Vokar,” she said matter-of-factly. “How?”

Anakin sighed. He knew the others on the speeders nearby wouldn’t be able to hear them over the engines, but he lowered his voice anyway. “She was someone I knew who . . . who died a long time ago. It was my fault.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Ventress replied.

Anakin scrunched up his face. “What are you talking about?,” he snapped.

“You blame yourself,” she said, peering over her shoulder. “But I don’t believe you’re directly responsible.”

“What’s the difference?,” he scowled, looking away.

“I killed my sisters,” Ventress exacted, drawing back his eyes. “It was my actions, my quest for revenge against my master that got them killed. Not only that, but I unleashed a monster on the galaxy, and the lives he took are on my hands as well. I know what weight you’ve put on your shoulders,” she affirmed. “But I don’t believe that when you were a child you willingly left her to her fate.”

Anakin was silent, absorbing her words. “Still,” he murmured after a moment. “I could have stopped it before it happened.”

“Who . . . who was she?,” Ventress finally asked.

Anakin let out a sound between a strangled laugh and a sob. “She was my mother,” he confessed, reaching for the japor snippet that he had tied around his belt.

Ventress didn’t say anything for a few seconds before she glanced back at him. “You look like her, you know.”

“Hah,” he sniffed, wondering why he was even smiling. “I suppose I didn’t much when I was younger, but now . . .”

When he looked in the mirror he could recognize the shallow cleft in his chin, the angularity of his face, the shape of his eyes. He never lingered on them for long though, it was just too hard.

Ventress let him have the silence, and he was grateful.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at their destination, and before Anakin knew it they had already reached Mos Entha. It was probably the most modern settlement on Tatooine besides Bestine, boasting four massive spaceport hubs and an even more impressive sixty docking facilities. Anakin had never been there, but had heard from other slave children who used to work in the spaceport domes that it was the most luxurious and decadent place they had ever seen. To a Tatooinian slave child it would have been. Anakin remembered how captivated he was exploring Padmé’s starship all those years ago.

“Where can we find the other rebels?,” Draven asked, unloading himself from a landspeeder.

“First you’ll want to speak with Lady Valarian,” Shmi answered, directing Beru and the rest of her men to keep a lookout and watch their caravan.

“Do you know what soldiers are posted here?,” Draven muttered to Ventress as they followed Shmi into the city.

“It’s been a while,” she replied, curt. “Things have changed.”

“Quickly,” Shmi urged, cutting in on their conversation. “This way.”

They turned down from a clogged street to pass through a back alleyway, and then a few more. After winding in and out of the streets for some time, they arrived before a building that rivaled the illustriousness of not only the Coruscanti-esk spaceport domes, but the B’omarr monastery of the Northern Dune Sea, which Jabba had since taken up as his residence. At least in Anakin’s memory.

The palace bore its simplistic architectural roots proudly, shallowly domed at its roof, but brimming intricately with ancient calligraphy and modern decorations across its walls. Two Gamorrean guards flanked the grand entrance, lugging their axes across the doorway as they approached.

“Dobra wata ta stuka Lorda Valarian,” Shmi announced to the Gamorreans, the Huttese rolling off her tongue with ease.

The guards snorted at one another, looking back at the newcomers and then each other before stepping aside, lowering their weapons.

Shmi simply nodded at them before stepping forward, motioning for Draven, Anakin and Ventress to follow.

“What did she say?,” Draven whispered.

“She’s here to speak to Lady Valarian,” Anakin answered simply.

The inside of the palace was dimly lit, but they were quickly greeted by the sound of lively music and the smell of spice and heavy alcohol.

“Watch your step,” Shmi advised, leading them through the lounge.

The racket of raucous laughter filled the space, competing with a band in a far corner of the room. The sound of a glass breaking could be heard somewhere not too far away, and nearby a Duro patron threw a stack of pazaak cards at his companions and angrily slammed his credits on the table.

“Do you know anything about this crime lord?,” Anakin questioned Ventress, scrutinizing their surroundings.

“Not much,” she replied. “All I know is that word says she’s more reasonable than Jabba. And she doesn’t deal in slaves, though that’s really down to the respect and fear she has for Vokar. Your mother’s no pushover.”

Anakin nodded, his gaze returning to Shmi, who seemed to have found who she was looking for.

They followed her to a lavishly sizeable booth, where behind a large pazaak table sat an enormous Whiphid, regally decorated in fine, colored linens — rare on Tatooine — and drinking a towering glass of a blurrgfire cocktail. The Whiphid looked up in pleasant surprise, returning her glass to the table and lowering the spice smoking pipe in her other hand.

“Abaadh Vokar,” she drawled, giving the masked Shmi an appreciative glance-over.

“My lady,” Shmi replied respectfully.

The Whiphid, Lady Valarian, took notice of the band behind Shmi, and leaned back against the booth cushions, an enormous hairy hand drifting to stroke her chin while the other found the pipe again.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?,” she probed, lifting the hookah to her lips. “You don’t often find time to visit me.”

“We’re here for information, my lady,” Shmi explained brusquely. She lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t have heard anything about any Jedi artifacts, would you?”

Valarian nearly choked inhaling the spice, letting out a hacking cough that quickly turned to a robust and throaty laugh. Spice filled the air as the crime lord continued to expel the contents of the pipe.

“ _Jedi?,_ ” she asked, incredulous, a disbelieving smile cutting strangely across her face.

“That is correct,” Shmi answered, dry even through the modulator.

“Oh, Vokar,” Valarian chortled, wiping at her eyes. “You always know how to make me laugh.” She took another swig of her cocktail, once more reclining against the booth couch.

“It would look something like this,” Ventress interposed, stepping up beside Shmi and retrieving the holocron from a pouch at her hip, presenting it to Valarian.

The Whiphid went quiet as the object came into view, looking mystified by the cube as her eyes widened and then blinked repeatedly, the glow capturing her attention.

“Hmmm,” she growled, staring intently like she had just realized something previously unknown to her.

“Well,” she started, “there has been . . . talk of a mysterious treasure in the Jundland Wastes for some time now. From what I hear from those who barter and trade with the Jawas, those little womp rats say even the Tuskens won’t go near the spot where it's supposedly hidden, wherever that is. They say they’re afraid of the light, that it’s a vengeful spirit of the desert.” Valarian let out an amused huff. “It’s deep in Tusken territory it seems, whatever it is. No prize is worth getting killed by those savages, nor getting lost in the Wastes.” She took another whiff of her spice pipe. “Is that all you came here for, Vokar? Or can I buy you a drink?” The Whiphid smiled her toothy grin again, but Shmi merely shook her head.

“Your offer is most gracious, my lady,” she bowed. “But I’m afraid information is all we came for. Thank you.”

Ventress withdrew the holocron as Shmi guided them away from Valarian’s table and back towards the exit. “It sounds like we have a lead,” she said, patting the pouch at her side.

“The Jundland Wastes are massive though,” Anakin pointed out. “How are we going to—”

A beeping from Draven’s comm interrupted him mid-sentence.

Draven stared at his wrist in disbelief for a moment.

“What is it?,” Ventress demanded.

“It’s a localized distress signal,” he explained. “It only goes off if there’s a nearby rebel broadcast for help on this channel.”

The roar of an explosion suddenly sounded outside, silencing the band and the laughter from before, followed quickly by another. Anakin immediately looked between Ventress, Draven and Shmi, his mind already made up.

“C’mon!,” he barked, racing for the door. “Let’s go!”

He heard the drumming of their footsteps behind him as the sound of blaster fire past the door became louder and louder until he was outside, the suns too bright in his eyes, the sand too hot between his toes and the ringing of shots being fired sending him back in time to the battlefield. Given the scene, he might as well have been.

Fighters overhead crashed into each other in a stunning blaze of fire and fury, taking entire city blocks and buildings with them in the inferno. On the ground fire was being exchanged faster than the eye could track, and bodies were strewn about in horrific displays of final agony. The Empire had come to Tatooine.

“How did they find us?,” Draven cried, withdrawing one of his blasters. Another explosion went off not far away as he whipped his wrist up to his face. “This is General Draven of the Rebel Alliance!,” he yelled into the comm. “Come in, I repeat, _come in!_ Is anyone there? What’s your position?”

Static was the only answer for a few seconds before a voice broke through the escalating noise.

“General Draven!,” exclaimed a rebel soldier on the other end of the comm. Another detonation could be heard in the background. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I’m glad to hear from you!”

“Listen to me,” the general commanded, “our main priority now is to retreat, not fight! If we don’t we’re not going to live to see another day.”

“Yessir, we’re attempting to evacuate our forces out of the city, Abaadh Vokar’s men have joined the firefight and are aiding us. Is Vokar with y—”

The blast of another detonation ripped through the comm frequency, cutting off the soldier on the other end.

“Dammit!,” Draven spat.

“The attack is being concentrated near the south spaceport,” Shmi pointed to the giant dome that was now smoking with artillery fire. “Let’s go!,” she ordered.

More patrons were flooding out of Valarian’s palace now to discover the dogfights clouding the sky and the swarms of armed men and women brandishing pistols and blasters to shoot down the incursions. Valarian herself stomped out the door and stuck out her face unpleasantly at the ships above.

“Ten thousand credits for every body of Imperial scum!,” she roared, jabbing a finger into the air.

Her patrons and employees — pirates, bounty hunters, and brigands alike — shouted back in solidarity, racing against one another to plant holes in their enemies.

“Go get ‘em, Vokar!,” Valarian cheered at the running form of Shmi and her companions. “Bring me back their heads!”

All around them people were running for cover, ducking under market stalls and huts to escape the rain of plasma bolts from the warring TIEs and A-Wings. They quickly found Beru, among a number of other rebel soldiers, shooting down stormtroopers emerging from alleyways behind the streets for a sneak attack.

Ventress immediately ignited Quinlan’s saber, jumping into the fray to push back the approaching legions.

“Jedi!,” several of them exclaimed, instantly moving to fall back.

As Ventress battled the retreating troopers, Shmi grabbed the staff slung over her back and charged into the line of fire. As she did she turned back to Anakin and Draven.

“We’ll handle their forces here! You help the others!”

Draven grabbed Anakin’s arm to herd him back towards the main street. Having barely made it to their destination, an incoming TIE blasted the earth before them, throwing them backwards against fleeing pedestrians. Arching his back and shoving himself up from the sand, Anakin struck out an arm as the TIE circled back around to fire on them. Clenching his fist, Anakin grasped the mass of the ship through the Force, and with a severe jolt of his arm against the ground, the TIE was propelled down the same path, crashing straight into the earth. Smoke plumed from the downed fighter in a swirling cloud, darkening the sky.

Breathing heavily from the exertion of the maneuver, Anakin pulled himself back to his feet, accepting some help from Draven beside him.

“Remind me never to make you angry,” he remarked.

Still heaving, Anakin shot him a smile, but his attention was abruptly stolen by a flash of steel glinting in the suns. An astromech droid was whizzing through the carnage before them, darting around wreckage and bodies in search of some unseen target. Its paint was chipping, and it was clear sand had infiltrated much of the ins-and-outs of the droid, but Anakin would have recognized him anywhere.

It was R2-D2.

“Artoo?”, he called, bewildered. “Artoo!”

The droid didn’t stop, and Anakin raced after it, Draven calling out behind him.

“Art—”

“Watch out!”

Anakin didn’t have long to process the warning before he recognized that he was being shoved by a fast-moving body hurtling full speed at him to steer his path. No sooner had he been pushed out of the way did a bomb drop from a passerby fighter, nearly shattering his eardrums and dizzying his senses.

He and his rescuer tumbled over one another as they were thrust backwards by the force of the explosion, rolling roughly across the sand as scorched debris fell over their heads. When they finally stopped, Anakin realized he was on his back, the other person still on top of him. His vision still had yet to focus, but he felt their movement and, even more acutely, their concern through the Force. He blinked, shaking his head and lifting it to glimpse his savior, words instantly falling short upon seeing their face.

“Padmé?,” he stammered.

Anakin thought he was dreaming.

She deftly removed herself from him, reaching down to help him stand. She was dressed the same way she had been during the battle in the Petranaki arena, her cloak pooling over her shoulders and down her back.

“Are you alright?,” she questioned.

He sat there, trying to process the maelstrom of thoughts churning in his head while the battle raged on.

“Can you hear me? Can you stand?”

“I— I—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish as Padmé heaved him back to his feet, sparing at glance at the sky to make sure the bomber wasn't coming back. Anakin held himself back from reaching out to her, shielding her from the suns and death and destruction. He wasn't sure if he wanted to protect her or her to protect him.

“That was close, you almost—”

She stopped herself, catching sight of the lightsaber hanging at his hip.

“You’re a Jedi!,” she whispered.

Anakin was at a loss for words. _Of course I am,_ he thought against his will. _Don’t you remember?_

“I am,” he affirmed intelligently.

“Right now we need to gather what’s left of our forces and get out of here,” she informed him, wasting no time with pleasantries. “We don’t have much time. We’re all in very real danger.”

“I was beginning to think you hadn’t realized, what with you standing around making small talk.”

The mechanically cold voice cut through the uproar of battle, the blaster fire and screams quieting in fear of the monster who belonged to it. Anakin and Padmé turned, the former almost reluctantly, to face the creature in black staring them down barely twenty feet away. Darth Ignavus titled his head in an eerie expression of amusement, one hand rising to his torso to clamp around the lightsaber stationed there.

He laughed. “Both of my enemies. Here in one place.” He detached the lightsaber from his belt. “You escaped me last time, Jedi, but not without a loss of your own. You will not be so fortunate today.”

Anakin noticed Padmé discreetly reach for the pistol resting in the holster at her hip.

“And you, Senator,” Ignavus hissed. “What a disappointment. But I’m afraid I cannot allow a traitor such as yourself to live.” He ignited one hilt of his lightsaber. “Prepare to die.”

He suddenly rushed towards them, Anakin unsheathing his own saber and stepping forward to meet the Sith to keep him from reaching Padmé. They clashed together in an hostile exchange of blades, sparks crackling as they slashed at one another in a dizzying flurry. Ignavus laughed.

“I feel your anger, Jedi,” he jeered, his breathing harsh through the mask. “Tell me, when I gutted your friend, did you imagine doing the same to me?”

Anakin aggressively pushed him back, using the Force to put distance between them, already heaving from the effort.

Ignavus braced himself against the intangible shove of strength, planting his feet in the sand and straightening slowly as he regained himself. “Your hate betrays you,” he snarled. “All around you, hate for me, for this planet,” he paused. “For yourself . . . That is not the Jedi way, is it?”

With a cry Anakin lunged for the Sith as his opponent ignited the opposite end of his saber hilt, spinning it in a deadly cyclone of crimson light. As they engaged once more, a laser bolt shot just past Anakin’s head, barely missing Ignavus. Padmé had begun to fire on him, doing her best to avoid hitting Anakin as he wrestled with the Jedi hunter.

He narrowly avoided a thrust of the red blade swiping at his shins, flipping over Ignavus to give Padmé a free opening. Unfortunately, he deflected all of her shots with uncanny ease, then catching the back of Anakin’s calf and cutting his descent short. He landed hard, putting too much weight suddenly on his wounded leg, and his knees stumbled to the ground for a moment before he forced his body to pick himself up.

Ignavus playfully twirled his lightsaber as he watched Anakin struggle. “I’ll let you live just long enough to see the Senator and your rebel friends die,” he disclosed, taking pleasure in the moment. “Then I will run my blade through your heart, and reaffirm my place as the Emperor’s right hand and the subjugator of the galaxy.”

“Like I’m— aghh— gonna let that happen,” Anakin leered, his leg screaming at him to drop.

“I was hoping you might say that.”

He sprung at Anakin, whipping around him in a flash and forcing him on the defensive. Out of the corner of his eye Anakin saw Padmé trading fire with incoming troopers, to his alarm noticing more streaming in from behind Ignavus with her back to them. As he managed to push back the Sith once more and as Padmé turned around, he saw a trooper aiming his rifle at her, ready to fire.

 _“No!,”_ he screamed, forgetting Ignavus and leaping in front of her, the world going still.

The blaster bolt slammed into him like a Star Destroyer, rippling through his body and tearing apart his nerves. It had hit him right where Tarkin had before during his escape from the Temple, his still-fresh wound reignited and scorching like a wildfire. He crashed into the sand in a heap right at Padmé’s feet, his lightsaber having fallen just in front of him.

Ignavus was stunned for a moment, but quickly burst into laughter.

“What a waste,” he tutted, stance relaxing at the sight of Anakin twitching and immobile before him on the ground. “Though not a surprise. Now, Sen—”

“Aagghhhhh!” A squad of rebel and abolitionist soldiers jumped out from behind the smoking remains of the downed TIE fighter, led valiantly by Asajj and Draven, sand and ash coating their faces. With as much strength as she could muster, Ventress gathered the sand in a hurricane and sent it flying against the Imperial forces, drowning their silhouettes under a ton of earth.

Anakin wasn't sure if he was experiencing another seizure or if he was just in that much pain, but he was able to recognize the voice of his wife as she urgently bent down to assess his condition.

“Master Jedi!”

He vaguely sensed Shmi joining her, yelling something to the senator before Asajj was there too and he was being lifted by multiple unseen hands. He felt himself whimper in pain, catching one last glimpse at Padmé’s face as Draven screamed orders at the other soldiers.

“Set off the communication blackout! Activate the detonator!”

Noise engulfed the increasingly blurry world, blood pooling in his mouth, the light becoming too bright, the roaring of ships above drowning him in the sound. Anakin shut his eyes.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading! There were just a couple of things I wanted to make note of for the story’s sake:  
> I wanted to disclaim that none of the mythology and culture here is derived from or a part of Fialleril’s Tatooine slave culture headcanons; I admire Fialleril’s creativity and ideas about Tatooine in their writing, but this is all purely from my imagination.  
> Also, credit is due where credit is due; many of the words of the slave language here are rooted in actual Berber terms, the language spoken in the region in Tunisia where all of the Tatooine scenes were filmed. Plus, a few of the other names of Vokar are actual Arabic titles and epithets that are referential to Shmi’s status as the theotokos/Virgin Mother figure in the Star Wars universe.  
> The name Ananke (ah-non-kay), is actually one of the real-life inspirations for Anakin’s name. She is a Greek goddess who is the mother of the three Fates, as well as the personification of fate, necessity and force (insert joke here).  
> Lastly, the Huttese spoken is actually just plain Huttese, feel free to try to translate it if you want! (Although Anakin does a pretty good job already).


	15. Paramours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I really wanted to get this chapter out earlier for you all, but October was a much busier month than anticipated. I apologize for the delay, and I wanted to thank you guys for your patience. I have been ecstatic with the amount of wonderful feedback from you, and I’m so thankful to you all for taking the time to read and leave comments, which I am always excited to see. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy, thank you again!

_The few days that had passed since Geonosis were a blur._

_Two hundred Jedi dead. The Senate divided in two. For the first time in a thousand years, the galaxy was breaking apart, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They were at war._

_Anakin had been under so many sedatives and painkillers on the journey back to Coruscant and during his time in the Halls of Healing at the Temple that he was barely aware of all that was going on around him. He remembered being herded back to the gunships for a medical evac, supported between Obi-Wan and Padmé as they guided him to the transport, and the two of them keeping vigil beside him on a stretcher in the LAAT/i._

_When he regained consciousness, he was greeted by a solemn Obi-Wan and Vokara Che, as well as the reminder that he no longer had a right arm. He remembered staring at the remnant of the limb numbly, unable to digest the amputation amongst his concern for Padmé, grief for his mother, and the news that the Republic was now embroiled in full-scale war._

_Vokara Che had informed him assuredly that he would have the best prosthetic credits could buy, but Anakin had barely heard her. Phantom pains were shooting up and down his severed nerves, but that was nothing compared to the stress that was now wreaking havoc in his mind. He had never felt more empty._

_Obi-Wan told him that they would begin the surgery as soon as possible, and he would be allocated time to recover before he was sent out to the front lines. By that point the healers were already putting him under again, and the sedatives began to erode his reservations._

_“Obi-Wan?,” he slurred, reaching to his master with what was left of his arm, forgetting once more that it was gone._

_Obi-Wan gently touched his shoulder before grasping Anakin’s remaining hand, a promise to his fading apprentice that he was there._

_“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said again, his eyes lidded. “Is Padmé okay?”_

_His master sighed, squeezing his hand. “She’s safe, Padawan. In fact . . . ,” Obi-Wan paused, as if to consider if he should share further. “She’s come here everyday to see you,” he admitted. “She’s been continually turned away by the healers, but she was quite obstinate about making sure that_ you _were the one that was alright.”_

_Anakin absorbed his words with increasing drowsiness, but his chest buzzed with unbound felicity. She had come to see him. And even when she had been told to leave she had come back. A sudden melancholy cut into his progressively dimming consciousness, however, as Anakin remembered the circumstances of he and Padmé’s last conversation._

_They had thought they were about to die. But they didn’t, and Anakin was sure Padmé wasn’t planning on living to see the consequences of their unbegun affair. He didn’t have long to consider it however, his surroundings dissolving around him as the sedatives did their work._

_He didn’t see Padmé again until after his surgery and he had received his prosthetic. Obi-Wan had informed him he would accompany her back to Naboo as her protection, and Anakin was both elated and terrified. Her reaction to his new arm was the least of his worries; he was far more anxious as to what they could even say to each other post-Geonosis, and Anakin couldn’t help the fear that Padmé wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Of course, if that was what she wanted, he wouldn’t deny her, but the thought that she would banish him from her memory and her life so soon after their reunion . . . Anakin wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with both Padmé and Shmi gone, especially with war looming on the horizon._

_He arrived at her apartment in the early evening. The sun had yet to set, casting the infinite city in a mellow glow and giving the skyline a distinct halo. He awkwardly followed one of her handmaidens, Dormé he remembered, to find Padmé on the veranda arranging her luggage. He hid his prosthetic within the sleeve of his robe, keeping his arm behind his back, and as soon as Dormé had escorted him to his destination, she left him standing there uncomfortably, doubtful in every regard as to what to do or say._

_Padmé looked up from her task to find him paralyzed there on the steps, her expression not becoming stoic or uneasy as he had feared, but instead instantly as warm and bright as the sun behind her._

_“Anakin!,” she chimed, standing straight up and rushing to meet him. “I’m so glad to see you alright.”_

_Anakin shuffled as she closed the space between them, and Padmé seemed to notice his hesitancy._

_She gave him a quick one-over. “I was so worried about you. How are you feeling? Your . . . is your arm . . .” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to the sleeve he was keeping behind his back. Anakin sensed the concern trickling from her mind, her face echoing the sentiment. “Anakin?,” she asked again, openly frowning._

_He looked away, sincerely ashamed now and wishing that he could just fold in on himself and disappear. “I don’t want you to see it,” he confessed miserably, clenching the steel fingers silently in an agonized gesture. He was petrified, but if he didn’t say it now, he suspected they would both be condemned to this tense and ill-eased state forever._

_“P-Padmé,” he stuttered. “I know that — what you said at Geonosis — I know that you didn’t want to—” He was speaking in an anguished jumble now, stumbling over his words with as much grace as an angry krayt. “You were right,” he conceded. “And — and I know we were about to die then and that’s why you said the things you said, but . . . but we can forget about them if you want.”_

_Padmé only looked at him in surprise, and then in soft realization. She didn’t respond immediately, allowing him to meet her eyes first before giving him a subdued smile. She reached slowly for his arm, still hiding behind him, and Anakin, unsure of what she wanted, let her. He nearly panicked when he realized her intent, but he remained perfectly still, allowing her to uncover the glinting gold hand and forearm from under his robe._

_His nervous system was still adjusting to the interface of the prosthetic’s circuitry, but he could feel her touch faintly as she cradled his new limb and examined it. Wires were peeking out from in between the joints of the fingers and from the center of where his wrist would have been — should have been, and Anakin could only think with dismay how ugly the thing was. How out of place and wrong it was being held by someone as elegant as Padmé. She must have found it hideous._

_To his shock, she smiled at him, looked back down at the prosthetic and then maneuvered it to gently press the hand to her cheek, holding it there in a gentle gesture of acceptance._

_“Anakin,” she began, gazing at him with sympathy and a hint of amusement, though he could detect the earnestness in her voice. “I didn’t say those things because we were going to die. I said them because I meant them. I told you that I wanted you to know because that was how I felt. How I still feel. And I could never regret that. I want to be a part of your life . . . and I want you to be a part of mine.”_

_Anakin just stood there in dumbstruck disbelief as Padmé gingerly removed his hand from her cheek to shelter it between hers._

_“And this,” she started, nodding to the gleaming prosthetic, “doesn’t change that.”_

_“I . . . ,” Anakin did his best to collect his thoughts while Padmé patiently waited for him to respond. “Are — are you sure?” He was stumbling over his words again, but he found he couldn’t help it. “Because — the war, and the Jedi . . . We could never—”_

_“I love you,” she said simply._

_Anakin fell silent, as did the world around him. The Force was and always had been a constant, an unrelenting sound humming with energy and life that refused to be drowned in the white noise within his mind. Now, against all reason, it was quiet._

_Padmé found his other hand as the words sunk in, and Anakin slowly blinked, mesmerized by the image of her beaming up at him. Absently, he realized he had started to smile too._

_“You do?,” he whispered, grinning now like a fool._

_She laughed, and Anakin felt his heart melt._

_“I do,” she affirmed, and suddenly, without warning, she stood up on her toes and kissed him. Anakin thought he might have died on the spot._

_When she pulled back, one hand curving around the nape of his neck, he stared at her in jubilant surprise before they both started to giggle uncharacteristically, reveling in the moment like children. Padmé’s arms were still slung around Anakin’s shoulders as he titled his forehead down to meet hers, letting out a contented sigh. He was smiling so hard that it began to ache._

_They looked at one another for a moment, wishing they could stay as they were forever, but a dangerous and looming cloud hovered over both of their heads._

_“Padmé . . . ,” Anakin started, searching her eyes for any possible answer in the depths. “What are we going to_ do?”

* * *

The clarity of the memory faded as Anakin was tossed in and out of consciousness. Pain infiltrated his entire body, which was trapped in an excruciating cycle of freezing, burning up and then freezing again. Anakin couldn’t even muster the strength to open his eyes all the way, unsure of where he even was and those who were in his present company.

He could vaguely sense that they were moving and that he had been positioned on his back, and he absently realized that he must be in the back of a speeder. He would have remarked on the sense of déjà vu had he been coherent enough to comment, but he barely possessed the strength to move his mouth, let alone speak. He took a shallow breath, feeling the chill of the wind grazing over his face and causing him to shiver. The moment he moved, however, Anakin was gripped by a sudden surge of pain originating from his midsection, and he let out a gasp in shock. He instinctively twisted to clutch the region of irritation, but the movement immediately set off a fire in the rest of his body, and for a second Anakin thought he might vomit.

He heard a chorus of competing voices increasing in volume as he tried to right himself, slipping into unconsciousness for a brief moment out of the worsening pain before different pairs of hands were grabbing him and easing his body back into its original position.

Anakin’s sight was still blurry, and his senses still clouded, but he could detect the flow of calming energy pouring into him, similarly to how healers in the Temple would ease their patients. He inhaled another shuddering breath, but he felt himself stilling, the Force wrapping itself around him like a cocoon. _Ventress._ He recognized her presence in the stream, and almost immediately he was able to distinguish her voice out of the muddled sound from before. She seemed to be reassuring the others crowded in the speeder with them that he was fine, just that he had aggravated his wounds.

“You’re okay,” he heard another voice affirm, though it sounded more as if they were speaking more to themselves than him. Drowsily, Anakin realized it was Padmé, her hand gripping his shoulder to keep him steady with another on his side for good measure. For a moment he wondered if he was back on that stretcher on the medical evac from Geonosis. “You’re going to be fine. Just sleep,” she commanded quietly, and he didn’t resist.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed until he opened his eyes again.

It took several moments for Anakin to muster the strength to blink the grains of sand from his vision, still acutely disoriented and unable to fully take in his surroundings. He had regained some feeling in his limbs — he no longer felt as though his nerves had shut down — but he certainly didn’t have the energy to move them. He breathed in shakily, excruciatingly aware of how the action, despite its frailty, pulled on the skin around his injury, and he very carefully, very slowly, exhaled.

He could feel the pressure of the bandages wrapped tightly around his abdomen as his sight returned slightly, and Anakin found he had been settled in what looked to be an old ship cot. He had been covered in a coarse cloth blanket, left in his trousers and tunic, his robe and tabards somewhere out of sight. He stared heavy-eyed ahead of him, attempting to process all that had happened in the past few days.

His first thought betrayed the strayed state of his mind.

_Where were Luke and Leia?_

As soon as the words echoed through his head Anakin was overcome by an unbearable emptiness, fighting back the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his knees and cry. But he was too tired, too dehydrated for tears, and he knew that if he dared to move he would no doubt hurt himself more. So he sat there, frightfully numb and unendurably lost amidst the self-loathing spuming in his heart. He was about to shut his eyes again to try and escape from his waking nightmare when a familiar voice cleaved into the silence.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake.”

Padmé was sitting by his bedside — R2 just behind her — holding a small bowl of water and a damp rag. She didn’t await a response, wringing the rag of its excess moisture and laying it over his forehead.

Anakin was thrown back into his stupor, unsure if he had truly woken up or not.

“I never got to thank you for saving my life,” she said to him quietly, dabbing the cloth over him. She leaned back, returning the rag to the water, and she seemed to sober, despite her smile. “That was a very brave thing you did. You Jedi may be too selfless for your own good.” She was looking at him sympathetically, though there was an exhaustion, a sense of loss, buried in her expression. Anakin tried to smile back.

“It’s all part of the job, milady,” he returned, barely louder than a whisper. His throat was as dry as the desert. He suspected dehydration was only partially responsible.

Regardless, he knew he would do it again if he had to.

Padmé chuckled softly now, apparently appreciative of the attempt at humor in such a time at his own expense, and she sighed. “Nevertheless, I’m very grateful. I don’t—”

“Padmé!”

An intruding voice cut her off suddenly, its owner having already burst in from the doorway, and Anakin sat straight upright in shock, immediately irritating the scarred and sensitive tissue beneath the bandages. He swallowed back a hiss of pain, saving his vehemence for the man now standing before him.

Clovis.

Anakin had not forgotten his final sacrifice of his life for Padmé’s, but he had also not forgotten how he was a traitor to his people and his government, his manipulation against those who had trusted him, and how he had ignored his wife’s assertions to stop while he continued to pursue what he wanted from her. Anakin had never stopped feeling ashamed of himself for his actions that night, but that didn’t change the fact that he shuddered to think what might’ve happened had he not walked in when he did.

He said nothing as the senator strode towards them uninhibited; Anakin didn’t know how far this man differed from the Clovis of his reality, but he wasn’t convinced his existence had a significant impact on the man overall. He sat alert on the uncomfortable mattress, eyes on Clovis like a hawk as he approached far too close for comfort.

The Senator didn’t seem to notice the apparent half-dead Jedi right in front of him, singularly focused on hurrying to Padmé’s side. He awkwardly pushed R2 out of the way to get closer — the astromech clearly not caring for the gesture as evidenced by a series of indignant beeps — and let out a heavy breath. It seemed as if he had been running.

“Padmé,” he said again, this time the greeting sounding much more dignified rather than a hasty shout.

“Clovis,” Padmé replied, cordial. She raised an eyebrow, confused by his presence, and shuffled to look up at him more directly from her seat at the bedside. “What are you doing here?”

It was then Clovis finally acknowledged Anakin next to her, though it was a fickle glance that dissolved the moment the Jedi met his eyes. Clovis promptly went from not noticing Anakin to ignoring him.

“Ah, well, I thought it best that you come and get your own wounds tended to and get something to eat,” he offered, reaching out a hand to pull her up.

Padmé didn’t take it. “Clovis,” she began, her tone shadowed by restrained incredulity. “Can’t you see I might be in the middle of something else right now?” She motioned to Anakin, who had a very obvious scorched hole in his tunic, his bandages visible beneath it.

“You still have to take care of yourself,” Clovis answered, clearly adamant, barely sparing a glimpse at her patient.

“For the time being there are others who need me more,” Padmé returned, sterner now. “I’m afraid you’ll have to go without me.”

She turned from him to lay down the bowl and rag, but just as she did Clovis grabbed her wrist.

“Padmé,” he pleaded, though there was an undercurrent of assertiveness to his voice. “I—”

“She said no.”

Anakin miraculously managed to find the strength to stand the moment Clovis pushed past his boundaries, cutting him off from Padmé and breaking his hold on her. He stood in between the two of them, one hand reaching for the cot to steady himself. He was shaking simply trying to keep his body from caving in on itself and falling to the floor, hoping desperately Clovis wouldn’t notice and just get the message and leave.

“Excuse me?,” the Scipian senator demanded disbelievingly. He scrunched up his face as he scrutinized Anakin, his posture echoing his lack of convincement.

“She said no,” Anakin repeated, wishing his voice didn’t sound so weak. “You can’t force her to go if she doesn’t want to.” _You can’t force her to do_ anything _she doesn’t want to._ “Just leave her alone.”

Clovis still looked disgruntled at Anakin’s intervention, but his mask fell immediately when Padmé cut in.

“Clovis. I’ll see you later when we discuss strategy with the others. Go and make yourself useful in the meantime by taking care of the other wounded who need your help.” She gave him a curt nod, a signal to go, and he finally seemed to relent.

“Oh — of course,” he murmured reluctantly. He bowed lightly and spun on his heel to exit quickly, avoiding Anakin’s eye.

As soon as he was gone Anakin all but fell back on the bed, suppressing a groan as he heaved himself back into a more comfortable sitting position. He sighed, as did Padmé as she sat back down beside him.

Anakin shook his head. “How did _he_ go from high-class confederate to rebel soldier?,” he mused, glaring at the empty doorway.

Padmé let out a small huff. “When the Republic became the Empire, Clovis was one of the few high-ranking Separatists that wasn’t killed at the end of the war. He was head of the Banking Clan at the time, and so he had technically revoked all Republic and Separatist ties. That was why he was allowed to remain in power. But it wasn't for long. He soon realized that he was little more than the Emperor’s puppet, and he was keenly aware of the fact that the Empire had had the vast majority of all other politically powerful Separatist leaders assassinated. He figured it was only a matter of time until he was targeted too.”

“So he joined you out of fear?” Anakin couldn’t help the jab at Clovis’ expense. This latest interaction had explicitly proved that the man was hardly any more bearable in this reality.

Padmé narrowed her eyes, and Anakin could see now the stress and frustration burning within them. They were pale in comparison to the waves of malcontent now rolling off of her. “At least he had the courage to see he was wrong and attempt to amend his mistakes,” she rebuked, standing. “Unlike Jedi, who have their morality drilled into them.”

Anakin started at the comment, taken aback by the sudden venom in her words. Padmé gave him a look caught between exasperation and disappointment — for herself or him Anakin didn’t know — before recomposing herself. She was tired. And unsure. Their future was mired quite deeply in doubt.

She sighed again. “Try not to move too much more, otherwise the bacta won’t be able to do its work. Get some rest.”

With that she briskly moved to exit, brushing hastily past Ventress at the doorway as R2 trailed after her. The Nightsister paused to glance back at the retreating senator before making her way inside, carrying a few ration bars and a small canteen. She too looked worse for wear, her face and attire marked by ash and dirt and her right forearm wrapped in makeshift bandages. Specks of dried blood were visible on her chest and waist, though Anakin surmised little of it likely belonged to her. He wasn't the only one badly wounded.

“So,” Ventress started, flashing a subdued smile in salutations, “that’s your wife?”

Anakin exhaled, his gaze still on the doorway. He wondered, if he stared long enough at it, Padmé would come walking back through, memories and all.

“That’s my wife.”

She handed him the canteen, which he accepted gratefully and eagerly, gulping down the water like he was tasting it for the first time. As soon as he was finished Ventress offered him a ration bar. He had no appetite, even though in truth he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, but he took it anyway, if only to appease her.

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely.

Ventress deposited the other ration bars on the bedside rack, leaning back against the frame of another cot opposite Anakin. “I’m relieved you’re awake,” she informed him, crossing her arms. “You’re not doing yourself any favors getting shot like that. I thought we might have lost you.”

Anakin only gave her a faint nod.

Ventress tilted her head and frowned. “How are you feeling?”

Anakin looked down at the hole in his tunic. “Well, it’s pretty painful for me to move, but—”

“Not that.”

His sight darted back to her face, searching for her meaning.

Ventress uncrossed her arms and placed one hand on her hip, standing up straighter. “Are you alright? Seeing her?”

Anakin faltered. Ventress was already aware of his difficulty facing Shmi. Now she had just walked in on Anakin getting scolded. He didn’t blame her for asking for his sake. He searched for the right words. “I . . . don’t know.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

Anakin’s eyes fell down to his hands. His glove for his prosthetic had been removed, placed next to the rest of his clothing, and he stared at the warped reflection in his palm.

“What can I say?,” he answered solemnly. He curled the golden fingers in on themselves, his left hand echoing the same maneuver as he tried to imagine the sensation of flesh brushing against itself rather than the cold steel on steel. “I couldn’t even tell my own mother who I am.” And more than anything, he wanted to. “I think I might save us all some suffering if I just keep quiet.”

It was silent for a moment, even the Force seemed to have been quelled in those uneasy seconds, and Anakin and Ventress merely allowed it to filter between them in wordless understanding.

“Why don’t you try and go back to sleep?,” Ventress suggested after a moment. “We’re going to meet on the bridge in an hour or so to figure out our next move and then move out. It won’t be long until Ignavus tracks us down.”

“Where exactly are we?,” Anakin asked.

“A downed freighter, near the Pika Oasis. It crashed here during the war after it was hijacked by pirates,” she explained. “Anyway, we won’t be here for long. I suggest you use that time to recuperate. The medic said it looked like you got shot in the same place twice, not to mention that reopened flesh wound below it. It’s a miracle that hasn’t gotten infected. He was pretty alarmed to see the state you were in, and he worked with Jedi on the front lines.”

Anakin only sighed. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“Not for much longer if you keep aggravating those injuries.”

He smiled, and Ventress managed to accomplish one as well. “Go to sleep,” she ordered, though not unkindly. “Try to eat if you can, I’ll come and get you when we start the meeting.” She revolved to make her way back out to the adjacent hall.

“Asajj,” Anakin called modestly, his vocal chords still aching. She turned, expectant. “Thanks.”

She let an amused glint flash in her eye, and her expression softened a fraction. “Go to sleep,” she commanded again, still smiling, before finding her way out and leaving Anakin to himself.

He hung his head, exhausted and still somewhat disoriented. He let his flesh hand drift to the bandages wound round his lower ribs, tenderly placing a few fingers over them to assess the damage. Ventress had said he’d reopened the gash he received during the Temple escape when he jumped from the window and impaled himself on a transparisteel shard. It was sore, but the area just below it was far more raw. He would be permanently scarred by the blaster wounds, he knew, bacta couldn’t change that now, and it was clear that the impact of two fairly close range hits in the same region had done a number on his nervous system and his body as a whole. He pulled his hand away as if he had touched a hot surface, the sudden movement eliciting more pain. He silently cursed himself for attempting to gauge his injuries and instead tried to right himself without shifting too dramatically.

An idea suddenly came to him. Anakin carefully crossed his legs, one over the other, and let his wrists fall over his knees, his palms facing upwards. He inhaled slowly, and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan would have been proud of him, he was actually meditating without having had to have been told to for once. Or at least trying, anyway.

_“When you quiet your mind, you will hear the Force speaking to you. With time and training you will better understand this.”_

A memory of Qui-Gon from long ago wormed its way into his head, the words filtering hollowly in his mind, echoing. _I can already hear it, Master_ , he thought sullenly. _The real trick would be if anyone could tell me how to shut it out._ He wished Qui-Gon were here now, that he would arrive with Padmé, Jar Jar, and R2 in tow, Obi-Wan not far behind, walking in with all the confidence and mysticism that he possessed the day he strode into Watto’s shop.

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut to stop the threat of tears leaking out. Anakin sighed, meditation failing him, as it always seemed to — or maybe he failed it, as other Jedi tended to remind him — and he let his posture slump. He stared at the rumpled form of the blanket beneath him, his eyes lazily tracing the shadows between the valleys and peaks of the cloth’s form as it stretched across the cot.

A trill of curious beeps interrupted his melancholy trance and Anakin looked up to find R2-D2 rolling into the room. He couldn’t help the smile that instantly blossomed on his face. A kindred spirit who never demanded more of him than he was able to give, Anakin treasured R2 as much as he did his friends of flesh and blood. The little droid had never once let him down, and his presence was a familiar comfort.

“Hey, little buddy,” Anakin greeted the astromech, his voice as warm as it could be with all the effort it took to speak. “What’re you doing here?”

R2 chirped eagerly at him, wheeling up to the edge of the bed as his dome cap spun from side to side. Anakin chuckled, simultaneously humored and eased by the droid’s exuberant attitude. “It looks like you and the desert don’t exactly complement each other,” he observed, reaching down to dust some sand off of R2’s head. “I know how you feel. I don’t think it brings out the best in me either.” R2 beeped again, letting out a low hum followed by a slightly distressed coo.

Anakin inclined his head. “You think you’ve got sand in your motivator?” The astromech beeped an affirmative. “You look a little worse for wear all over,” Anakin continued, giving R2 a gentle pat and a smile. “I think I can do something about that.” It wasn’t long before he became lost in the moment, almost forgetting about his injuries as he let muscle memory take over in tending to the droid.

_“Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things.”_

Anakin exhaled, wishing he could just detach himself from his mind like any good Jedi. Luckily for him, R2 began to warble once more, tearing him from his thoughts. He snickered at the droid’s commentary.

“Yeah,” he agreed, rearranging R2’s motivation circuits, “I don’t like him either.” The astromech released a sharp tweet, which caused Anakin to laugh. “You’re right, he _does_ need to learn to keep his hands to himself.”

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he began his work, but after finally getting the majority of the sand out of R2’s nooks and crannies, Ventress returned to collect him.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” she announced as she entered. “And managed to ignore explicit medical advice as well.”

Anakin was sitting on the floor with R2, and he smiled sheepishly at her, giving the astromech a few more pats on his head. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, now maternally rubbing the droid’s domed head. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Ventress chided. “The medic’s on his way right now to give you another look-over, and he won't be happy to find you’ve been moving about. It wasn't that hard to remember, was it?”

“You said this medic worked with Jedi on the front lines?,” he asked, ignoring her teasing.

Ventress nodded.

Anakin tilted his head. “Is — is he a c—”

The clanking din of footsteps on the metallic floor interrupted him mid-sentence, a voice not following far behind. “Alright”, its owner began, stepping inside, “how’s my patient doing?” The jovial tone turned to one of slight confusion and surprise as the medic discovered his case on the floor with an astromech, but it seemed the Jedi was even more surprised to see him. The man standing in front of him was wearing fragmented pieces of old painted battle armor, and a distinctive tattoo reading, “A GOOD DROID IS A DEAD DROID”, sat on the side of his head. A thin layer of hair had begun to grow over it, but Anakin would have recognized it in a heartbeat.

 _“Kix?,”_ he blurted, completely forgetting himself.

The clone looked just as startled to have been recognized, and let out a small chuckle of disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Uh, evening,” he started awkwardly, glancing at Ventress. “Not that I’m not flattered to have been remembered, but I’m afraid I don’t recall our meeting. I must have treated you back sometime during the war — unless of course we’ve met at some alliance base or another?”

Anakin unsteadily stood, leaning back against the frame of the cot to keep himself balanced, leaving Kix’s eyeline in favor of the ground.

“Uh . . . the former,” he replied quietly, pulling himself back up on the mattress. “But it was a long time ago,” he lied. “I doubt you’d remember me.”

Kix seemed somewhat eased at that, and silently coaxed Anakin to remove his tunic. “Well I’m glad to make your acquaintance again, Master Jedi. I just need to do a quick look over.”

Anakin winced at the title, though he was positive Kix interpreted it as a reaction to having to shift to undress.

“How much does it hurt to move?,” the clone asked, taking his tunic from him.

“It’s not too bad,” Anakin downplayed, slowly maneuvering his arms back down to his sides. “It’s just sore, that’s all.”

Kix made a face at that, one that was eerily familiar, and Anakin knew that he had been caught.

“With all due respect, sir,” Kix began, his tone taking on a sterner note, “it’s in your best interests to be honest with me.”

Ventress was silent as she observed the two, arms stoically crossed and eyes hiding a glimmer of amusement.

“Are you feeling any numbness? Any residual pain in the aggravated area?,” Kix probed, feeling for his pulse and pulling a small flashlight from a pouch that hung from his side. Anakin tensed when he shone the light in his eyes, remaining uncomfortably rigid as the medic bent slightly to begin removing his bandages.

“It feels more like I’ve got pins and needles in my whole body,” Anakin answered, faintly dazed from sitting up too quickly.

“Sounds like you may still be experiencing some neuropathy then,” Kix concluded as he continued his work. “Luckily, your leg’s in pretty decent shape; looks like you were only grazed.”

Stupidly, Anakin realized he had never even bothered to check his injuries himself before they had left for the prison barge to rescue Bail, and he almost didn’t want to look as Kix removed the last of the wrappings and the bacta patches beneath.

It was a gruesome sight to say the least. The reopened gash from the transparisteel had grown larger, cutting all the way from the length of his entire rib cage. It was still red, looking fairly inflamed, and it stung as it touched the cold air, setting off another fire in Anakin’s blood. It paled in comparison to the blaster shot though. A dark, blood-welled point rested above the gash on Anakin’s side, the flesh around it twisted. Blood vessels and veins protruded from the spot like points on a star, and the skin around it was pale, almost dead looking. If Anakin didn’t know better, he’d think he was turning into a corpse.

“It’s looking much better than it was a few hours ago,” Kix remarked casually, lightly tracing a finger over the swollen veins pumping blood to the wound. “If anything you just need to keep bacta on it and make sure you’re not over-exerting yourself, though I’m not sure how possible that’ll be in our situation.”

He pulled out a couple of new bacta patches from his pouch and applied them to Anakin’s injuries, delicately placing them so as not to put pressure on the sensitive skin. He then wrapped a few more bandages around Anakin’s midsection, before turning around to retrieve his tunic.

Anakin took the garment back gratefully. “Thank you, Kix,” he said, nodding.

The medic smiled. “I hope this is the last time we meet in this context, sir. But you’re very welcome. You don’t see too many Jedi these days. I’d hope we can keep you around for at least a little longer.” He glanced at Ventress. “Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Her lip curled up subtly, mirth creeping into the Force. “That’s why I’m here.”

His job done, Kix made his departure, and as Anakin finally allowed himself to slump back down, Ventress strode over and handed him his robe. “C’mon,” she said, gesturing for him to take it. “Everyone else is on the bridge waiting for us.”

* * *

“—and that holocron _must_ be somewhere in the Jundland Wastes.”

Anakin and Ventress shuffled in behind the crowd already gathered around the holotable on the freighter bridge. Draven, Beru, and a masked Shmi stood together on the far side of the table, the former just having finished explaining their findings to the other rebels and pulling up a holomap of the canyons to their south.

Padmé was just to their companions’ left, at the head of the table. She wore a familiar expression, one she often donned in the face of injustices in the Senate, in the face of injustice itself, and it was clear despite her carefully guarded presence and expression that this conflict had hardened her. Anakin could see the regality and strength of Queen Amidala beneath the burdened and battle-weary woman before him, and with increasingly heavy guilt, realized that he hadn’t been there for her through the years of war.

A prickle of anxiety and irritation snaked its way down his spine as he spied Clovis standing in Padmé’s shadow just behind her. He clenched his jaw. _Not now,_ he told himself.

“Can we trust Valarian?,” someone from the mob of rebel soldiers called out.

Shmi crossed her arms. “We can,” she asserted. She gave Padmé a brisk nod in assurance, and was returned in kind.

The senator quickly turned her attention back to the holomap and narrowed her eyes. “Then it is imperative that we move out immediately. The Empire will scorch the wastelands trying to find us, as they’ve ravaged system after system. We have no time to spare.”

At that Clovis slipped out from his place behind Padmé, somewhat hesitantly, and joined the others gathered at the table. “And how is it exactly that we’re supposed to find this . . . holocron?,” he questioned, skeptical.

Draven’s eyes immediately shot into the crowd and pinpointed Anakin and Ventress. “I believe that that would be the expertise of the Jedi,” he answered. The rest of the room followed his gaze, quieting, and Ventress took it as an opportunity to carve a path through the soldiers, silently motioning for Anakin to follow her.

Reaching their comrades, Anakin risked a glance at Padmé’s eye, hoping to make a wordless apology for his comment about Clovis before — even though he still didn't share her sentiment — but she was squarely focused on Ventress, failing to acknowledge him at all. He tried to remind himself that this wasn't the Padmé he knew.

“There would be some kind of force signature attached to the holocron,” Ventress began to explain, pulling out the one they received from Master Rancisis to show what it was they were looking for. “It’s likely faint — holocrons themselves don’t usually emit a significant amount of energy — it’s the presence of the person who came into contact with it, who placed it, that we can track. But it’s really only the remnants of their presence, not the person themselves, so it will be somewhat of a challenge to locate precisely.”

“Is that all we have to go on?,” Padmé queried.

Ventress withdrew the holocron. “Unfortunately, yes,” she answered. “The closer we get to it, the better we’ll be able to sense its location, but the trick is getting to the right place.”

Padmé turned to Draven and Shmi, and then back to Ventress. “Then we’d better get started.”

* * *

It was approaching morning when they set off for the Wastes. Only a small party was embarking, the rest of the rebel militia was to head for Anchorhead and smuggle themselves offworld to get to Lehon where the rest of the rebellion had regrouped. The Empire had arrived, and Tatooine was a lost cause.

A few soldiers had joined them on their expedition, and the abolitionists that had survived the battle in Mos Entha accompanied them as well, but other than that it was solely Ventress, Draven, Anakin, R2, Padmé, Beru, and Shmi. Much to Anakin’s chagrin Clovis was there too.

Under the suns they were once again blazing forward in a caravan of speeder bikes and the like, charging towards the imposing and untamed canyons of the Jundland Wastes. Mos Entha was still uncomfortably visible in the far distance, but Anakin tried to pay it little mind.

Reaching the mouth of the gorge not much later, they departed from their transports, observing the mass of rock and sand before them, hiding their unseen prize.

“We won’t be able to take the bikes into the Wasteland,” Shmi announced, treading to the entrance. “But we also cannot leave a trail behind for the Empire to trace.”

“What do you suggest we do?,” Draven asked, squinting against the light reflecting off her mask.

“I’m afraid the only thing we can do is give them to the desert,” she answered. Shmi looked to Ventress and Anakin. “Can you manipulate the earth to bury them?”

Ventress nodded. “We can.”

“Wait a minute! What if we need to make an escape? We’ll be trapped if the Empire tracks us down.”

Anakin dragged his head around to glare at Clovis, obviously uncomfortable amongst the sand and the heat and the soldiers, and looking far out of his depth, but of course readily concerned with how he should save himself should they encounter danger. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid we don’t have a choice,” Shmi answered blankly, and Padmé nodded in concurrence.

Taking that as an affirmative, Anakin and Ventress simultaneously reached out for the weight of the vehicles over the ground and the volume of the sand beneath them. In one swift motion, they both clenched their fists and jerked them down suddenly, the earth following the gesture. A sinkhole appeared from under the pack of speeders, swallowing them all in mere seconds before caving in on itself and filling with new sand. Their tracks were covered.

“Let’s move out,” Padmé directed, motioning for Shmi to take the lead, following her into the maze of stone.

Beru drifted to Ventress’s side as they began their march, and Anakin fell in at the rear to watch their flank. Out of the rest of the group’s sight he allowed himself to draw a hand up to his abdomen and press on the skin adjacent to his injuries, nulling some of the pain. He sighed, his feet dragging in the sand, trying not to think about how much time he had left.

They trekked through the canyons until the suns reached their zenith, periodically stopping for a few minutes at a time for Anakin and Ventress to stretch out and try to sense any nearby Force presences. Each time, they both found nothing. The desert was lifeless save for themselves. Their latest stop seemed about to yield the same result, when the both of them tensed, snapped open their eyes, and drew their lightsabers, not yet igniting them, but ready to do so at a moment’s notice. They were surrounded.

“We’ve been followed! They’re all around us!,” Ventress warned the others, herding them closer together in a pack between the crags and cliffs.

“Who?,” Padmé demanded, raising her pistol at the unseen enemy.

Anakin detected movement from behind the rocks as the presences began to shift. His eyes darted to the stones in front of them, widening with shock and fear as their foe revealed themselves. Sand People.

Anakin immediately ignited his lightsaber, moving to the head of their protective circle next to Ventress and drawing up the saber in an aggressive stance. He was surprised when Shmi grabbed his wrist, holding his arm steady and keeping him from moving forward. More Tuskens emerged from their hiding places, brandishing their weapons and taking aim. Anakin looked from them to her uncertainly, as did the rest of their party, but didn’t take off when she finally let him go.

“Wait,” she commanded, voice low. “Stay your blade.”

To Anakin’s horror she walked forward, away from the safety of their circle and towards the Tusken who had cornered them, flanked by two more of his people. Shmi simply nodded at them before proceeding to engage in a series of gestural hand signals, motioning back to their party several times. She concluded her silent signaling with an assertive wave at the Krayt pearl that hung from her neck, dropping her arms back to their sides. The lead Tusken didn't move for what seemed to be hours, before instantly responding in kind, signing back to Shmi enthusiastically. She nodded and turned back to the rest of them.

“They say we are heading towards the domain of the Ghost of the Mountain, which based on Valarian’s information, seems to be your holocron,” Shmi informed them. “They said they are willing to lead us to its territory if we vanquish the spirit and promise to leave their land.”

Anakin wasn't convinced. “Can we trust them?,” he pressed, uneasily glancing between his mother and the Sand People. _Can_ they _trust_ you _?,_ a voice whispered in his mind, and he shuddered. _Murderer,_ it taunted. _Monster._

Without hesitation Shmi answered with a steadfast “Yes”, again turning around to signal to the Tuskens that they accepted their offer. They quickly filed into a line and began to march forward deeper into the canyon, their leader gesturing to Shmi to follow. Anakin reluctantly sheathed his saber, shooting a questioning look to Ventress. She read his face easily enough and murmured under her breath, “It’s not like we have much much of another choice”, before trudging ahead.

He stared anxiously as the others began filtering in a parade behind the Tuskens, forcing himself to join them and keep his reservations to himself. They continued their hike for a few more hours at the Sand People’s pace, unnervingly quiet save for the sound of the sand crunching beneath their feet. They had reached a plateau now, and there was no cover from the setting suns. Anakin nearly became all but lost in his thoughts when a foreboding feeling prickled the back of his brain, alerting him to the detection of another life form in the Force. Two of them.

Ventress sensed it as well, Anakin noticed, understanding the tilt of her head and the alarm that soon permeated the air. “You sense it too?,” she asked. Anakin nodded.

The party halted. “We’re being followed again?,” Shmi questioned.

“We are,” Ventress affirmed grimly. “And we’re caught out here in the open.”

The motorized sound of a speeder engine began to hum in the air, getting louder by the second. Turning around and looking west to the horizon, Anakin could spot two blurry shapes in the distance, gaining on their position with alarming speed.

“Imperial scouts,” Shmi deduced. Her men unlocked their slugthrowers.

“And we have no way to escape,” Clovis hissed accusingly, glaring at Anakin and Ventress.

“What do we do?,” one of the rebel soldiers asked.

Padmé turned to Draven. “We let them come to us,” she ruled. “There’s no doubt they’ve already sent word of us back to their superiors. The only thing we can do for now is take them out before they do the same to us.”

“I recommend that you move out with the rest of the company and keep moving forward. I’ll stay behind with a squad of troops and the Jedi while you get to safety,” Draven volunteered.

“A fine plan. Good luck, General.” Padmé signaled to half of the other soldiers to follow as she moved out with Shmi and the Tuskens.

Ventress strode over to Draven, who was now reaching for the blasters seated in his holsters. “You know, you didn’t need all of us to stay behind,” she said. “I can take care of those two alone easily.”

“I don’t doubt you could,” the general responded. “But in our position, I’m finding myself less willing to take chances.”

The scouts were much closer now, less than two hundred meters from them. As far as Anakin was concerned, Padmé and the others weren’t far away enough, but he didn’t have the luxury of getting them further any faster. He heard the clicking of rifles behind him as they were unlocked, his thumb hovering over the button to switch on his saber the moment the bikes got in range. Drawing ever closer towards them, Anakin zeroed in on the position of one of the speeder’s engines, steadied it in his mind’s eye, and focused.

The engine exploded with a sudden shriek as the speeder stuttered in its path, smoke bursting out as small flames licked the melting center of the vehicle. The rider became obscured in the fumes as their bike blew up moments later, their companion thrown off by the force of the explosion. Draven shot him off his speeder as the scout attempted to steady his course, landing a blow to his chest and killing him instantly.

Ventress stood up straight, leaning a hand on her hip and hooking Quinlan’s lightsaber back on her belt. “That was easy,” she remarked, giving Draven a dry look. “Should we dispose of the evidence?”

Anakin shook his head. “Pad— Senator Amidala was right. They already would have notified the Empire of where we are. No point in wasting time trying covering our tracks again. We need to keep moving.”

“Fair enough,” Draven accepted. “Let’s move out.”

* * *

The others had reached the edge of the plateau by the time they were able to catch up, the suns having almost set by then. They decided to lay low for the night, making camp within an open gorge surrounded by cliff walls. If any more Imperial scouts came looking for them, they’d likely pass right by.

The Tuskens provided them with the material to set up a few tents, and they established camp quickly and quietly. They couldn’t make a fire without the smoke giving away their position, so everyone retreated to the safety of their makeshift shelters to bear the bitter cold. Anakin had volunteered to keep watch first, sitting in the center of their sanctuary amongst some jutting stones, attempting to map where he was based on the stars that were visible above the atmosphere. He spotted Coruscant, Bothawui, and Rishi amongst the blindingly dazzling sky, absently searching for Naboo as he traced his eyes over the gleaming bodies. There was little light pollution on Tatooine; the planet had a small population, and as such, lacked large metropolitan settlements that produced an excess of artificial light. Despite how much he hated it, Anakin had never been to a planet where the stars shone brighter, glowed so fervently that he could feel them burning. He had to admit, it was beautiful.

His attention drifted to Ghomrassen, the largest of the three moons, emanating a soft blue glow. He recalled the prayers often made to the moon spirits, maternal figures who watched over the children of the desert, guided them. It was said that if one prayed to them for protection, they could be saved from their master’s rage. He remembered the few slaves who earned allowances would often spend them on juicy, ripe fruits that came from offworld, cut them up and coat them in traditional spices, and then burn them in an offering of tribute and respect to the great Grandmother. He and his mother had never had that luxury, but Shmi had always told him they would one day, that doing so would grant them the patronage of a wise and powerful spirit. Lost in his memories, Anakin almost didn’t notice the sound of footsteps quietly treading nearby before someone was sitting down next to him.

“Can you see Naboo?”

Anakin turned his head to see Padmé staring up at the heavens, her eyes flitting around the mass of stars that crowded the sky in the search for her home. Anakin could sense how tired she was, but she wore a smile anyway, perhaps given some moment of peace by the tranquility of the hour. He felt himself smile as well, seeing the look on her face, jovial for the first time since he had met her again. The night was cold, but he felt a comforting warmth beginning to grace him inside.

“Do . . . do you see that star there, north?,” he asked her, pointing above them.

She moved her head closer to his to match his eyeline, shuffling somewhat as she did so. “Mmmhmm,” she affirmed after a moment.

“Okay, if you look east from that point, that’s Malastare,” he explained, drawing his arm over the sky to illustrate where he was looking. “And there, that smaller light, the one that’s in between those two fainter stars, that’s Naboo.”

Anakin could feel the elation that radiated from Padmé once her sight caught her homeworld, and the small laugh she released at having found it made him want to laugh right along with her.

“That’s spectacular,” she praised, glancing between him and the curtain of constellations above. “Can you see more?”

Anakin grinned sheepishly, his gaze reluctantly returning to the stars. “Well, um . . . Oh! Can you see that one, the one next to that cluster?”

“I see it.”

“That’s Telos, and if you go down directly from there you can spot Taris.”

“Wow,” Padmé breathed. “It’s hard to believe there are so many.” A mischievous look suddenly overtook her features, and she raised an eyebrow, her smile wider now. “How do I know you’re not just assigning random stars names?,” she mused. “Are you making fun of me?”

Anakin openly laughed now, feeling much younger than he was, and he looked away bashfully. “Oh no,” he laughed again, “I’d be much too frightened to tease a senator.”

Before he could register what he’d said he’d already said it, and he was all of a sudden nineteen again, clumsily naive, pitifully awkward, and hopelessly in love.

Padmé chuckled softly at that, her smile broadening, before a particularly harsh wind blew through the both of them, shattering their moment of easy casualty. Padmé shivered, her short cape doing little to shield her from the elements, and she drew her hands up to her arms to embrace herself.

Anakin removed his cloak. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

She looked between him and the robe, once, and then twice, furrowing her brow. “No,” she refused. “I’ll be fine, the cold won’t kill me.”

“It will on Tatooine,” he returned, still holding out the cloak. “I’ll be alright,” he assured her. “But I won’t be if you get hypothermia.” Seeing her still-skeptical expression, Anakin added, “Don’t worry, Jedi are trained to maintain their body temperature in harsh climates.” With a small smile he quipped, “I don’t think that’s a prerequisite for politics though. Please, take it.”

Padmé’s good-humored expression returned, nodding to him gratefully before accepting the robe and pulling it over her shoulders. It was massive on her, making for an almost comical sight, but it was clear that she was relieved to have the cold air buffeted.

They sat in silence for a moment, quietly admiring the lights in the atmosphere once more, before Anakin worked up the courage to speak.

“You know,” he started, twining his fingers together, “I never got the chance to thank _you_ for saving _my_ life.”

Padmé looked at him in surprise, then began to beam softly, the starlight illuminating a halo around her features.

“I would have been killed if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way then.”

“As would I if you hadn’t jumped in the way of that blaster bolt,” she replied. “I owe a great many things to the Jedi, my life being the least of them.” She paused. “I . . . also never got the chance to apologize for my outburst before. I didn’t mean to say Jedi had their mortality _drilled_ into them — to say such a disrespectful thing about the selfless men and women who have sacrificed so much for the Republic.” Her smile was gone now, replaced by a despondent mask. “But nevertheless I did. And I’m sorry.”

Anakin was devastated to see her so disheartened.

“I by no means mean this as an excuse but . . . ,” she sighed, “This war has taken its toll on me.”

He didn’t know what to say to her; after all, he hadn’t been there, and he didn’t feel like he had the right to say anything at all. Regardless of if he could have found the words or not, Padmé spoke up again anyway, interrupting the silence.

“You’re the Jedi that escaped from Coruscant . . . aren’t you?”

What else could he say?

“Yes.”

A strange bearing took over her face. “Why would you risk your life to go there?,” she asked.

Anakin realized he was going to run out of answers sooner or later. He struggled to give her one. “I didn’t,” he said eventually.

Incredulous, Padmé squinted at him. “What do you mean?”

“I— it was a trap.”

“How did you walk into that? On Coruscant, in the Imperial Place?”

Anakin struggled to come up with a response, agitation and fear creeping in against his will. “I told you, I didn’t go willingly!” All at once, it became too much for him. He was terrified, scared to death of what the next day might bring, who he might lose next, paralyzed by the fear that he would make another irreversible mistake and get someone he cared about killed. He snapped. “And I lost _everything_ because of it!”

He regretted his reaction the moment the words left his lips. His face softened, horrified by how he had spoken, but it was too late. Padmé’s disbelieving manner turned cold, unnervingly hard-edged and angry. Anakin didn't even realize that he had stood up in his fit until she got to her feet to face him.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost,” she bit back, a frigid fire burning in her eyes. “Now that I’m a full-blown traitor, my family — everyone I care about — could be dead! I have no idea what’s happened to them!” She turned from him then, dropping her head to one of her hands as if her neck and shoulders no longer possessed the strength to support it. “And it’s my fault,” she whispered, despair seeping into the Force. “It’s my fault.”

They were both embroiled in the anger their fear had wrought now, and Anakin, against all his better judgement, muttered, “The Emperor already destroyed my family, Senator,” and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized she would interpret that as meaning the Order. He tried to ignore how deeply the thought stung. “Trust me, I know exactly how you feel,” he specified, a little too bitterly.

Padmé turned back around, shooting Anakin a glare that pierced him like a knife. He felt as if she were looking right through him, and for one petrifying moment he was sickeningly scared that she could, that she was disgusted by what she saw.

“You’re a Jedi,” she remarked coldly, her voice rigidly austere and palpably harsh. “I find it hard to believe you can feel much of anything.”

She stormed off without another word, out of the light of the stars and into the shadows of the overhanging cliffs, leaving Anakin alone. He stood there in shock and shame, astonished and aggrieved at his own stupidity. Unable to bear himself any longer, he stalked away into an unoccupied tent, angrily setting himself down onto a makeshift cot and burying his head in his hands. He heaved, and dropped his hands to hang limp in the air, his forearms resting on his knees. He instinctively reached for his lightsaber, taking it apart and putting it back together again was an activity that usually soothed his nerves, but with surprise found his fingers brushing the jerba cord wrapped around his belt. Tentatively, Anakin tugged at the leather and drew the japor snippet strung to it upwards, gently cupping the object in his palm. He stared at it, tracing the grooves of the carvings, deciphering their meanings by unearthing long-buried memories. Motionless, he became lost in them again.

He had carved one each for Luke and Leia not long after they were born, and the thought of them once more broke his heart.

Anakin started to weep. He didn’t sob, he no had longer the energy, nor the strength. He merely let the tears stream down his cheeks, bowing his head as he cradled the japor, a reminder of everything he loved and everything he had lost.

“I’ve never seen . . . a Jedi cry.”

Anakin opened his eyes, momentarily startled to see Padmé, standing on the other side of the tent, one of her hands still clinging to the drapes that marked the entrance. She looked small, uncertain, the cloak still pooling around her, but concerned; Anakin could feel her regret and disquiet worming around in the Force.

He sniffed, staring at her before sighing sharply and looking away, tucking the japor snippet back where it belonged. He didn’t bother to wipe his face, she had already seen his tears. He picked his head up to face her again.

“I’m sorry.”

They blinked at one another, having spoken simultaneously, the sentiment clearly mutual. But it wasn’t enough for Padmé.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, alone this time. 

“I am too,” Anakin murmured.

He glanced at the empty space on the cot beside him, a silent invitation that she was free to sit if she was comfortable to. Padmé took it, slowly sitting down, clutching her fists so tightly they were almost shaking.

“I never . . . ,” Anakin paused to collect himself, to wait for her to reach his eyes. “I never meant to imply that you hadn’t sacrificed or lost anything,” he apologized lamely, a pit growing in his stomach.

Padmé only sighed again, looking back to her hands. “I didn’t lose anything. Not compared to the Jedi.”

They sat like that for a little while, neither one of them moving or speaking, just decompressing. However much they might have needed it, the silence was beginning to become excruciating.

“So,” Padmé started, breaking the stillness. “Artoo tells me you fixed his motivator.”

Diffidence leaked into Anakin’s expression. “Oh,” he said, his voice still a bit hoarse. “Yeah. He— he needed a bit of a tuneup,” he added feebly.

A hint of a smile crept on Padmé’s face. “So you’re a navigator _and_ a mechanic? Do all Jedi have hobbies or is that just exclusive to you?”

Anakin was glad for the lack of light in the tent because he was fairly certain he was blushing. Flustered, he laughed, “I do more than just fix things and point out planets.”

_“Oh?”_

“I’m a pretty decent cook if I do say so myself.”

“Now I _know_ you’re teasing me.”

“No, it’s true!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Padmé was smiling again now, so brightly Anakin felt as if she was illuminating the entire tent. “I’ve never met a Jedi who carried themselves like you,” she confessed. “Except perhaps one; a peculiar man, but a good one.”

Without having to be told Anakin knew she was talking about Qui-Gon.

“Well,” he found himself starting, realizing too late where this topic would bring them, “I wasn’t actually raised in the Temple, at least not for the first few years. My career was . . . a little unorthodox.”

“Why was that?,” Padmé questioned politely.

Anakin swallowed, considering his choice of words. “I was born here,” he said. “On Tatooine. The Jedi didn’t find me until I was older.”

“This is your home?”

“I— this is where I was born, but it’s not my home. I don’t have many good memories of this place.” He trailed off, averting his eyes. Padmé was silent for a few tenuous seconds before she spoke again, gentle and heartbreakingly compassionate.

“You were a slave?”

Anakin looked at her sadly, his face telling her all she needed to know.

Sympathy shadowed her features, something Anakin usually hated — he couldn’t stand to see people’s pity — but Padmé, he knew, carried every injustice she encountered as personal failing, as something she was responsible to defeat. Just as he did. She slowly, hesitantly, raised a hand, reaching out an arm to touch him. They stared at each other, mutually unsure of what they would do once Padmé got to him, but neither said a word.

Padmé’s hand was just about to land on Anakin’s forearm, when Clovis abruptly burst into the tent, exclaiming, “Padmé!”, inciting her to jolt her hand away, tucking it beneath the crook of her elbow.

“Padmé,” Clovis said again, moving over towards them. “I was looking for you.” Padmé didn't look at Anakin. “What are you doing in here?,” the man probed.

“Oh, Clovis,” she began, steadying her voice. “I was just speaking with . . . ,” Padmé turned back to the Jedi. “I just realized,” she murmured, seeming to forget about Clovis behind her. “I never asked you your name.”

He faltered. “Anakin,” he told her. “Anakin Skywalker.”

“With Master Skywalker, then,” Padmé finished, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards as she nodded lightly at him. He smiled back, but then Padmé startlingly remembered Clovis was there. “And he was kind enough to lend me his cloak with it being so cold out, and I was just here to return it to him and thank him for his kindness.” She somewhat hastily disrobed, politely handing the garment back to him. “Thank you again, Master Skywalker.”

Anakin found he could only dip his head in acknowledgement.

“If you would excuse the Senator and I, Master Skywalker,” Clovis announced, drawing back the drapes to exit.

Padmé moved to follow him out, pausing at the mouth of the tent. She looked back. “I’m glad to have met you, Anakin.” She smiled, and with that departed, leaving him alone once again.

He gazed at where she had been, a familiar warmth returning to him. “I’m glad to have met you too.”

* * *

They set off again in the early morning, a few hours before the suns began climbing back over the horizon. It wasn’t long before they reached their destination, the Tusken tribe leader indicating that just over the adjacent hills of sandstone before them was the dwelling of the ‘ghost’. Indeed, an azure glow radiated in the distance, painting an odd picture against the pale pink dusky sky that was beginning to emerge.

According to Shmi, the Tuskens would wait for them outside the ghost’s domain, fearing its wrath if they entered. They had done their part, now it was their duty to destroy the spirit as they had promised. A few soldiers were ordered to stay behind to lookout for incoming Imperials and defend their position if they were spotted.

They entered the maze of crags and precarious overhangs, maneuvering over the stone carefully to reach the holocron. Padmé was leading the group with Shmi, Beru and Draven behind the two of them. Ventress was pulling up the rear, Clovis not far in front of her, and Anakin was in the middle of the herd. Periodically, Padmé would look behind her, shooting quick glances over her shoulder at Anakin. The times he caught her eye when she did it, she smiled, and he smiled back. It soon turned into a kind of game, the two of them playing tag; sometimes he would pretend not to notice her staring, and she’d do the same. Then they’d hide a barely contained grin from those beside them, continuing with their contest. Anakin nearly walked straight into a cliff face at one point, completely distracted to the point where his surroundings became obsolete. They carried on like that for a while, as the morning light cast a hazy warm richness over them.

Anakin barely registered when swift footsteps kicked up wisps of sand next to him and he came face-to-face with Clovis, now walking slightly ahead of him but matching his pace.

“Master Skywalker,” he greeted pleasantly enough, but Anakin could detect the politician’s tone buried under the pleasantries. Clovis was sizing him up, introducing himself on his own terms, catching the Jedi off guard. The air of superiority was not lost on him either.

Anakin only nodded back. He wasn’t really sure of Clovis’s official title, not that he much cared, but he wasn’t eager to tread without caution with this man. He’d already learned once. Rather than accidentally offend him he may as well just stay quiet.

When Padmé turned around again, Anakin realized why Clovis must have approached him. Her smile melted, looking unsure. Anakin caught her eye quickly, and she seemed to read his mind, whipping her head back around before Clovis could notice again.

“I’m sorry that we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” the former senator started. “I understand that you were quite badly injured, and so mustn’t have been wholly coherent when we initially met.”

Oh. That was his fault. Of course.

Anakin held himself back from raising an eyebrow.

“But I wanted to thank you for saving Padmé’s life. She told me later what you did, and I am truly indebted to you,” he explained. Then he lowered his voice. “She is very important to me.”

He seemed to emphasize that last fact, his gaze becoming slightly more intense and his lips pressing into a thin line. Anakin almost laughed in his face, both at the fact that Clovis so surely believed he was entitled to her and his attempt at intimidation.

“Of course,” Anakin replied, careful not to let his voice betray him. “May I ask, where were you at the battle at Mos Entha?”

Clovis blanched. “We were given the order to retreat,” he nearly stammered, his stare broken. “I was evacuating our troops.”

“Of course,” Anakin repeated, struggling to tamp down a smirk.

“Regardless,” Clovis snapped, now looking straight ahead, “once this war is over, we will hopefully be rid of all this chaos and bloodshed. I should hope to settle down then.”

Anakin rolled his eyes then. _Why the hell are you telling me this?_ He snorted. _Oh that’s right. He’s reminding me who Padmé belongs to._

“There may still be plenty of work to do after that,” Anakin responded, remembering the months of negotiations after the end of the Clone War.

“I should also hope that Padmé will recognize the importance of doing so,” Clovis continued, completely ignoring Anakin. “She cannot let her ideals and her career rule her life.”

 _But of course_ you _can._

“Padmé isn’t ruled by her career, she’s ruled by her principles,” Anakin countered. “Being a senator is what allows her to make change to help others. Besides, she’d never just give it up like that. It’s her life.”

Too late he realized he’d gone too far.

Clovis narrowed on him. “How would _you_ know anything about that?” Before Anakin could offer any defense the man was already on him again. “What _were_ you talking about in that tent last night? Just what were you planning to do?”

_“What?”_

“I know you Jedi are capable of influencing the mind. What did you convince her was happening?”

“I didn't _do_ anything,” Anakin bit back, openly angry now. A few of the other soldiers nearby spared them passing glances. “Padmé isn’t some delicate glass ornament that’s going to shatter into a million pieces if you’re not right there next to her.” It was a lesson he himself had had to learn. With his wife, with Ahsoka, and with his children. “She’s capable of living her life without you,” he snarled. He knew he had promised himself to be civil, but Clovis just made it so _damn_ difficult.

The man just stared at him in shock for a moment before his countenance harshened, his nose scrunching in displeasure. “Stay away from her, Jedi,” he warned, stomping off ahead of him, marching obstinately in between he and Padmé.

When Taayememaut and Ayuc finally reached the horizon line, peaking over the dunes, Anakin could significantly better detect the energy of the holocron, now just over the next hill from them, humming quietly. As they clambered up the rock to reach their objective, a beeping pulse began to sound on Padmé’s communicator, and the caravan halted.

“Senator, we have an Imperial patrol closing in. The Sand People have already engaged them. We can’t get to you. What is your status? Have you retrieved the holocron?”

Padmé glanced at Draven. “Not yet, lieutenant,” she replied, terse. “We’re just about to now. I want you all out of there.”

“I’m afraid I don’t think that’ll be possible, ma’am,” the lieutenant responded, the sound of blaster fire and static infiltrating his message. “There are too many of them, and if we don’t engage they’ll likely catch up to you. We can hold them off while you escape.”

“No, lieutenant. We are not abandoning you,” Padmé asserted.

“Senator?,” one of the rebel soldiers spoke up. “We can loop back around and take the Imperial forces by surprise,” she proposed. “That can buy you enough time to get to the holocron and go.”

Padmé shook her head. “That’s not possible, we’d be leaving you behind, and we’d have to have a ship on standby.”

“Then we’ll just have to take one of the Imperials’.”

Padmé stared at the young girl before her, an unreadable expression on her face.

“We’re prepared to lay down our lives for the rebellion, ma’am,” she declared, and the others behind her murmured in agreement. “And that’s what we’ll do if it comes to it.”

Padmé seemed to be waging an internal battle as the suns climbed higher in the sky, turning it to an orange-crimson hue, magenta clouds hanging heavy in the air. “May the Force be with you,” she finally said.

The girl bowed. “May the Force be with you.”

She stepped down from her place on the rock hill, the rest of the company following her. Draven started to go too, but Padmé held him back. “Wait, General,” she commanded. “I need you here with us. I understand your resolve, but the rebellion needs you to live another day,” she said. “Let’s go.”

At last, they reached the peak of the small mountain, finally coming face to face with the source of the Tuskens’ fears. But they encountered something more than they were expecting. Anakin nearly ignited his saber in alarm. An unmoving tactical droid, an S-T series super tactical droid to be exact, sat cross-legged on the earth, clutching the holocron in its steel grip. Rust and sand coated the shell of its armor, nearly all of its paint faded and worn away. It didn't seem to be functioning any longer, merely a shell at this point.

Padmé walked forward cautiously, reaching out to retrieve the holocron, when, without warning, the droid’s eyes lit up and it began to speak.

“Halt,” it instructed, its vocal circuits clearly worn down and close to failure. “I am programmed to relinquish this holocron only to a Jedi,” the droid informed them, completely still. “Any attempt to take the holocron by force will result . . . in failure.”

Padmé took a step back, looking to Anakin and Ventress. The latter stepped forward, a heedful hand on the hilt of her saber. “I am a Jedi,” she proclaimed to the droid.

It tipped its head up at her. “Scanning database,” the droid droned, silent for a few seconds as it analyzed her. “You are no Jedi,” it stated matter-of-factly moments later. “You are traitor to the Confederacy of Independent Systems Asajj Ventress.”

Ventress scowled. “And _now_ ,” she drawled, “I’m a Jedi.”

“You are traitor to the Confederacy of Independent Systems Asajj Ventress,” the droid repeated.

Ventress huffed. “It doesn’t like me,” she leered. She looked at Anakin. “You try.”

He glanced from her to the tactical droid, taking her place before it. It again tipped its head up to scan him, then referring back to its internal databanks. The droid lowered its gaze.

“You are no Jedi,” it professed. “There is no record of you in the Grand Army of the Republic.”

Anakin seethed. This was getting them nowhere.

“You didn't fight in the war?”

It was Padmé, standing disbelievingly behind him.

“No, no,” he stuttered. “I did, I — I don’t know why there wouldn’t be any record of me,” he lied. “This droid, there’s something wrong with it.”

“I am fully functional,” piped up the automaton.

“It’s not answering to either of us,” Ventress cut in. “I don’t know what it wants us to do.”

Anakin turned around. “Your primary directive is obviously no longer to command and advise the droid army,” Anakin said to it. “You’ve been reprogrammed. What is that your programming compels you to do?”

The droid tilted its head. “I am programmed to relinquish this holocron only to a Jedi.”

“But we _are_ Jedi.”

“That does not correspond to the information in my databanks.”

“What’s stopping us from cutting off his head and just grabbing it?,” Draven asked.

“If you attempt to take the holocron by force I will destroy it,” the droid answered. “My master has ensured that if a Jedi does not claim its contents, then no one will.”

“Your master? Fulcrum?,” Padmé queried.

The droid did not answer this time.

An explosion rocking through the wasteland severed the short-lived silence that followed.

“They’re getting closer,” Ventress warned.

“We can’t have come all this way for nothing!,” Clovis barked. “Perhaps Fulcrum wasn’t a double agent after all. Maybe this was all just a trap to lure us out here to be slaughtered.”

“Quiet, Clovis,” Padmé ordered. She put a hand to her chin, looking to the droid. “If we could prove that one of these two was a Jedi to you, would you relinquish the holocron?”

The droid did not answer at first, as if pondering the question. “As per the information my master programmed me with, I know that only a disciple of the Light has the capability to activate a Jedi holocron. If that can be accomplished, I will give you what you seek.”

“You could have led with that,” Anakin grunted under his breath, stretching out and closing his eyes. He knitted his brow in a knot, concentrating as he invested his consciousness into the stream of energy that curled around the crystal hidden within the holocron. He breathed, his body stilling as his mind reached out from beyond. The holocron began to glow, and he could feel the tactical droid finally release its prize as the cube floated upwards, dismantling itself with Anakin’s guidance and rearranging its pieces into a working instrument. It hung in the air before drifting down to be scooped up by Ventress.

“Nice work,” she complimented, activating it herself to initiate display of the crystal’s contents.

At once a blue beam of light shone out of the cube, transmitting a fully formed map of the galaxy. Another hyperlane path was illuminated, all the way to Wild Space.

Draven blinked at the map. “Seoul?”

“Seoul,” Ventress confirmed.

The sounds of battle and blaster fire echoed again through the canyon, closer now than ever before.

“You need to get to a ship and get out of here,” Shmi urged.

Anakin faltered. “What do you mean, _you?”_

Even with the mask, he could sense her expression was steadfast. “I cannot abandon my people, Skywalker.”

Anakin was about to argue when another voice interjected.

“The transport that brought me to this planet is still here.”

They turned to see the droid stand, somewhat shakily, rattling as it did so, and move to point west.

“That is where you will find my ship,” it informed them. “It is my master’s will.”

“And you?,” Draven asked.

“I have fulfilled my primary protocol,” it answered simply. “Now, to protect you, I must self-destruct.” The droid then sat back down, its eyes falling to a dim glow as it lowered its head. “This will ensure that the information I possess will not be used against you.”

“Let’s move out then,” Draven called, glancing at the source of the sound of the firefight not far from them.

They were rushing down the mountainside now, Anakin racing to catch up with his mother. She managed to stay ahead of him though, only stopping when they discovered the tactical droid’s ship less than a kilometer away on the edge of a cliff.

“M— Vokar,” he called out, but she paid him no heed, instead focused on helping the others get the ship doors open and get the shuttle started.

“I’m going to run an engine diagnostic,” Draven announced. “Ventress, make sure navigation is working. You, astromech! Plug in our coordinates!” He continued barking out orders as they scrambled to get the ship up and running.

“Vokar!,” Anakin tried again, pure desperation evident in his voice as he cried out to her. That seemed to catch her attention, and she finally turned. Shmi moved hurriedly towards him, the two of them standing on the fringe of the cliff face behind the shuttle.

“You _can’t_ stay here,” he pleaded.

“I must,” Shmi answered. “It is my duty.”

“They’ll _kill_ you,” he beseeched. “Don’t — don’t let that happen. Don’t let them get to you, _come with us.”_

“I can’t.”

Anakin was on the verge of throwing himself off the cliff side in frustration, and close to tears now, but he didn’t care. “Please, _please,”_ he begged her. “I can’t . . . ,” his voice broke, “I can’t lose you again.”

Shmi paused, and then removed her helmet, planting it firmly in the earth and holding his gaze with her own eyes.

“When I spoke to you that morning during the sunrise, you told me that your name was Anakin Skywalker, but I never told you mine. Yet nevertheless you knew it. No one has called me Shmi in twenty years.” She looked into his eyes, searching. “Who _are_ you?”

Anakin didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry again. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he croaked.

Shmi only traced the scar slicing over his eye with the pad of her thumb. “I have no reason not to believe you, amectuh aswad.”

He smiled at the name, _brave dragon_ , and leaned into her touch.

“I’m your son,” he choked, tears swelling in his eyes.

Shmi slowly, watchfully, drew back her hand, silent.

“I came here from . . . another galaxy,” he tried to explain, wishing for just once that he possessed some eloquence. “A different timeline. The Force, Ab’atat, Ananke, did this, brought me here.”

Shmi still said nothing, digesting his words.

“In this world, I was never born . . . but you’re still my mother.”

She blinked at him, and he wasn’t sure whether she truly believed him or not.

“You used to tell me, whenever we got lashings, or had our water rations taken, or were beaten, you always said that life wouldn’t always be this way, that freedom wasn’t a myth, that that was where we got our name. Skywalker didn’t just mean the one who breaks their chains, the one with unclipped wings—”

“The Skywalker is the child of Ab’atat themselves,” Shmi finished, newfound wonder blossoming on her face. “Leading the other children of the desert to deliverance. To freedom.” She smiled, tenderly cupping his face in her calloused hands. “My son,” she whispered, her own eyes watering. “My grown up son.” She laughed wetly. “You’re so handsome!”

Anakin melted into her arms, sighing contentedly as he buried himself in her embrace.

“Now will you come with us?,” he mumbled hopefully into her shoulder.

Shmi reluctantly pulled away from him, combing a hand gently through his unruly hair. “You have your duty, and I have mine,” she maintained. “But that does not mean I won’t be with you.”

“I just want you to be _safe,”_ Anakin implored.

She smiled bitterly. “I have to protect my people. Now that the Empire is here, they need me more than ever. You must understand that.”

As much as he didn’t want to accept it, he understood. “I know,” he conceded. “I know.”

She smiled again. “And now you must go,” she asserted. “Go, and deliver us from tyranny. And when this war is over I will see you again.”

He was about to respond when he heard Ventress’s voice cut through the air. “Skywalker! Where are you? We have to go!”

He looked back at her desperately. “How do you know that?”

His mother pulled him down towards her, pressing their foreheads against one another. “What does your heart tell you? You carry me with you, as I do you,” she whispered. “And soon we will be reunited again. Go, my son. Go.” She cradled his face once more before letting go, smiling proudly.

He started to step backwards, spinning on his heel to move faster. She had told him not to look back all those years ago, but now he turned around one last time. They looked at one another for a moment before he spoke.

“I love you,” he called.

She beamed. “Me tayri al aut tafukt den satele.”

Anakin beamed back, bidding her one last goodbye before racing back to his companions, his mother’s words resonating in his heart.

_I love you, my son of suns._

* * *

“We must report to the Emperor.”

They had gone to Tatooine to end this conflict once and for all, but both Amidala and the Jedi had slipped right through their grasp. Again.

“You will not make _any_ communications to the Emperor until we have the Jedi!”

Tarkin was losing his patience with this behavior, and Palpatine’s consequences for failure concerned him far more than the threats born out of Ignavus’s temper tantrums.

“With all due respect, my lord—”

“You _will_ obey me, Governor,” the man hissed. “And the Emperor will not hear from us until we can present him with good news. Is that clear?”

Tarkin swallowed his pride. “Of course, my lord.”

Ignavus stalked out of the bridge of the _Agonizer_ furiously, leaving Tarkin, Yularen and the other officers in an uneasy silence. The governor turned to his colleague.

“Colonel,” he addressed, and Yularen stood at attention. “Prepare the prisoners for interrogation. We’re going to find out where those rebel scum are headed. Torture them if you must. Just get me some semblance of information.”

Tarkin didn’t wait for a response, following in Ignavus’s path and exiting briskly enough that Yularen didn’t have time to voice his objection. Another bridge officer approached him.

“Shall I round up the prisoners and have them delivered to interrogation, sir?,” he asked.

“Delay that order, Corporal,” Yularen answered brusquely.

Hurrying to his cabin and locking the door, the colonel exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, considering whether he was really about to do what he thought he was.

He was.

Quickly, Yularen opened up a private comm channel, praying that this effort would bear some fruit. Or better yet, not end with his public execution. As soon as the static cleared, he began to speak.

“I’m not sure if this will reach you, and I don’t even know if you’re alive, but I fear the government to which we pledged our loyalty is not what it once was.” _Or maybe it had always been that way, and we were just too blind to see it._

Yularen continued, “I have a great deal of valuable information that could be of significant use to your coalition to restore the Republic, if only you can trust me now as you did before. Please, Captain Rex, the galaxy may depend on it.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This was longest chapter so far at about 14,670 words, which is nearly 20% of this entire story at this point in time. I really hope you guys enjoyed it, I’m going to try my best to get back to updating more consistently, and hopefully I’ll have chapter sixteen out by the end of this month. Thank you again, and let me know what you think down below! Have a great day!


	16. Fulcrum

It was a quiet journey through hyperspace, a blanket of fatigue settling over each of the ship’s inhabitants and quelling their jumbled thoughts. They had traveled a number of uncomfortable hours already, crammed into the sheathipede-class shuttle that had been the transport of the old Separatist tactical droid on Tatooine. The ship was cold and austere, perfectly suitable for a droid, though not the most agreeable for organics on a lengthy flight across the galaxy.

Ventress was in the cockpit, along with R2, while the rest of the party sat in the hull. Clovis had drifted off some time ago, leaving Anakin, Padmé and Draven to themselves. No one had spoken since they left the atmosphere, and it seemed that no one was intent on breaking the silence. Anakin glanced at Padmé. She was sitting across from him against the opposing wall, cradling her pistol in her hands. She must have been wondering whether her family was staring down the opposite end of one. Judging by the way the Force was curling around her, Anakin bleakly supposed that might not have been too far off. Who was to say Shmi wasn’t in the same place right now? At the thought his stomach dropped, and he couldn’t help a sigh, shifting to draw his knees closer to his chest.

Padmé looked up at him then, offering a concerned frown. “You alright?,” she asked carefully.

Anakin blinked. Something was bothering her, something more than just fear for her loved ones. He could see it in the way she discreetly studied him, with guarded eyes and a politician’s scrutiny. When she raised an eyebrow at him Anakin realized he hadn’t responded. “Yeah — yes. Yes,” he answered hastily. “I’m fine.” He slowly nodded back at her. “How about you?”

Her gaze darted from him for a second before she settled herself in a more comfortable position. “As well as I can be,” she responded vaguely. She turned down to her blaster again. “I wish I could say the same for the men we left behind.”

Anakin felt his chest tighten, and his eyes followed Padmé’s. “I know,” he almost whispered, catching the senator’s attention. The silence returned for a moment before Padmé cut it short once more.

“You’ve been in that position before,” she guessed. “The,” Padmé paused, “the war?”

Anakin only inclined his head, and Padmé returned to studying him, falling into uneasy quiet again. It was then that Ventress returned to the hull, R2 trailing behind her.

“We’re about to enter realspace,” she informed them, stirring Clovis. “Seoul V has some fairly densely populated areas, but the map coordinates land us in the mountains, so we won’t have to worry much about being spotted.”

Draven moved to stand. “Is there any reason we should have to be wary of Fulcrum? Any reason we have to believe that this isn’t some elaborate trap?,” he probed.

It was a hesitation so quick and subtle that for a moment Anakin wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it. The swiftest break in her line of sight, the slight furrow of her brow, and the uncertain, tentative pulse that emanated from her in the Force. _Doubt._

“No.”

Ventress was hiding something.

Her confident manner returned not a second later, but Anakin had already sensed the shift in the air around her, and Ventress herself seemed to already be aware of that. She continued, “I don’t know who or what exactly will be waiting for us when we arrive, but regardless, we should tread carefully.” She looked to Anakin, and he could see in her expression a silent signal. “Skywalker, help me co-pilot so we can land this thing.”

He answered with a brisk nod, glancing back at the other passengers as he followed the Nightsister into the cockpit. Ventress closed the doors behind them, leaning one hand on the back of one of the pilot’s chairs for support as she let her shields lower slightly.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” she disclosed feebly.

Anakin knew they were both well aware of that by now, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned down to her eye-level, willing her to look him in the face. “Are we in danger?,” he pressed.

She shook her head. “I . . . don’t know. I don’t think so. But there was something about the Force signature that lingered within the holocron that felt familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“I can’t place it.” She sounded exhausted. “But I _know_ that I recognize it. I just can’t decide from where.”

“You don’t know, or you can’t decide?” Anakin was troubled by Ventress’s growing uncertainty, and it seemed that sitting on this for the past few hours had done her little good.

She hesitated again. “I don’t know.”

Anakin wasn’t sure if it was an answer to his question or whether she really didn’t know how to respond to him.

“It’s strange in the least that a Separatist droid had possession of a Jedi holocron, but . . .” Ventress trailed off. “We’re so close,” she affirmed after a moment. “But will getting this piece of the puzzle really bring us closer to the end of this war?”

Anakin found he didn't have an answer. Obi-Wan would know what to say, and with another burden weighing heavy on his heart, Anakin wished again, and not for the last time, that he was there. Ventress turned from him and lifted her head to stare out at the passing glow of hyperspace.

“I’ve been fighting for so long,” she continued, the age beyond her years bleeding into her voice. “So much of that time on the wrong side. What if it’s too late to amend all that I’ve done?”

Anakin rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I know you don’t believe that.” She gave him a dubious look, but he pressed on. “You said it yourself, we’re so close, but if we start to doubt ourselves now, then Sidious has already won. Don’t let him take what we have left. We’re going to stop him and restore things to the way they’re supposed to be.”

Despite his own words, Anakin found himself internally faltering as he finished. _The way things are supposed to be._ But that was a world that Ventress no longer lived in. He had already lied to her before, and he was lying now. Guilt flooded his chest, and he instinctively slammed his shields up before any could leak out and alert Ventress to his dilemma.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she managed a soft, but purposeful smile. “Alright, Skywalker,” she huffed. “But I’m holding you to that.”

Anakin shifted uncomfortably, searching for some way to articulate that should they succeed Ventress wouldn’t be there to see it. _He had to tell her._ But she was already maneuvering herself around the pilot’s chair and sitting down.

“C’mon, we’re at the dropout point,” she declared. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It was a smooth transition out of hyperspace and into Seoul V’s atmosphere, the old shuttle handling the task far more capably than expected. Anakin would have thought sitting in the desert for who knows how long would have made it nearly as touchy as the _Twilight_ in its last days, but the ship made a graceful descent over the planet easily, weaving in and out of the wispy low-lying clouds like a shyyyo bird.

Below them was a massive expanse of forests, tinged gold by the dusky sky. The silhouette of a large city could be made out in the far distance, but it was the only visible civilization for miles from their vantage point in the air. It was easy to guess why Fulcrum would have chosen to hide here.

The shuttle dove down to fly over the range of the densely vegetated mountains, and at their proximity, Anakin was able to make out distinctly carved pieces of stone jutting out from the face of the rock. Upon closer inspection, he could see the vague form of temples and statues seated in the surrounding boulders and herbage.

“Are there people living all the way out here?,” he questioned Ventress, careful to keep his focus on steering the ship as he glanced at the passing stonework.

“I doubt it,” she maintained. “This is all probably the remnants of the Rakata occupation here thousands of years ago.”

“Seoul was a Rakatan colony?,” Anakin questioned.

“Back in the day, _every_ world was a Rakatan colony,” Ventress answered matter-of-factly.

“Good point.”

“Still,” she continued, “it’s rare to see anything left behind by them that’s still intact. Lehon is the only place I can think of that has any real trace of them left — it was their homeworld — and even then you’d be pretty hard-pressed to find it.” She was quiet for a moment. “The most powerful force in the galaxy once upon a time, and now it’s a wonder we even have any proof that they existed.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at another weathered statue that he could now clearly recognize as a Rakatan warrior. “Only more proof that empires can fall,” he asserted. “Soon enough,” he promised, “the Galactic Empire will never have existed in the first place.”

They continued following the coordinates registered in the holomap to the landing point for some time before the cockpit doors opened and Padmé strode in behind them.

“How far are we?,” she asked, gazing at the peaks that towered over them.

Ventress pointed to one of the mountains ahead of them, not far on the starry horizon. It was nestled in between two more rocky hills, the three summits coated in greenery that climbed the walls of an enormous Rakatan temple, built into the mountain face itself.

“That’s where we’re headed,” she announced. Draven and Clovis had arrived now as well, hanging back behind Padmé in the doorframe. Ventress deployed the legs of the shuttle. “Prepare to land,” she said.

There was a scarce amount of flat earth on which to rest the ship, and they carefully touched down at the base of the palace-like complex that stretched over the three peaks. From the cliff that acted as their makeshift landing site, a long trail of stone steps ascended the mountain, leading up to the main entrance of the temple.

Exiting the shuttle, they were able to get a better glimpse at the structure in all its glory, lit by the warm glow of the sky as more and more stars emerged at the planet’s twilight. Unlike the other edifices, the walls were not the dark grey of the surrounding rock, but a pale, sandy white, reflecting the light of the sinking sun.

“What is this place?,” Draven breathed.

“Fulcrum’s hideout,” Padmé determined, her eyes fixated on the mouth of the temple. “Let’s go,” she ordered, heading up the ancient staircase without delay. Clovis hurried after her, the rest of them following suit.

“You still feeling that presence?,” Anakin whispered under his breath to Ventress, whose gaze was anchored on their destination.

She wavered once more, and he waited for her to find her answer. After a moment she whispered back, “Yes. It’s stronger. But I don’t know how far I can trust my instincts. My sense . . . is clouded.”

“You’re certain we’re not in danger?”

Ventress looked away, then back at the temple.

“We’ve been left a trail of holocrons, which only Force-sensitives can gain access to,” Anakin pushed. “And that strong enough signature means that we’re dealing with someone remotely powerful.”

The Nightsister remained silent.

“Asajj, do you know who Fulcrum is?”

She sighed, and Anakin was hit by a wave of weariness and apprehension mixing unpleasantly in the Force.

“I can’t be sure,” she murmured. “It — it’s impossible, but the Force is telling me otherwise. I don’t know what to think.” It seemed that he had to be satisfied with that answer, as Ventress said nothing else, simply continuing to climb.

“Something wrong?,” Draven piped from behind them.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder at the general. “No,” he answered after a few seconds, unable to fully look him in the eye. “Let’s keep moving.”

As they drew closer to the summit, Anakin quickly began to realize that a similar sense of familiarity had started to infiltrate his senses as well. It was muddled, simultaneously foreign and an echo of something he had felt before. At first, he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t just drowning in Ventress’s increasingly turbulent internal storm, as he tended to turn into a sponge when it came to strong emotions radiating in the Force around him, but it soon became clear that that wasn’t the case.

His injured leg gave him pause for a moment as he took another step up, and it was then that he grasped a flicker of the feeling’s origin. The burn of a lightsaber on his flesh, phantom pains racing through his severed arm, singing with shock and betrayal, only quelled once his own saber was turned on his unknown enemy. The vision left as quickly as it came, and Anakin realized he was sweating profusely, bent over and fiercely clutching where the flesh of the remainder of his arm met steel and wires.

“Master Skywalker?”

He looked up, seeing a concerned Padmé in front of him with a hand on his shoulder, and he let out an unsteady breath.

“Master Skywalker, are you alright?,” she tried again.

 _Master Skywalker. Not Anakin._ He childishly lamented whatever had happened to prompt this sharp change, but he didn't have the luxury to dwell on that now, pushing the thought to the back of his mind.

“I’m alright,” he assured her, picking himself back up. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just my leg. I’m fine.”

“And your arm?,” Padmé queried, her eyes darting to his gloved hand.

“Phantom pains,” he said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly he thought at Padmé’s raised eyebrow. “I get them all the time,” he explained, hoping it made his answer less suspicious.

“Will you be alright to continue?,” she motioned with her head behind her to the summit.

Anakin nodded. “I will.”

With that they were off again, but Anakin still felt himself shaken. Every step he took towards the temple he felt those disarranged feelings and indistinct shreds of memory becoming sharper, and he exchanged a tense look with Ventress beside him. Despite what he had told the others, he wasn’t feeling so fine, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of what he had just witnessed or the Sith artifact’s apparent work. Doing his best to push that all aside, he matched his companions’ pace as they trekked on, silently dreading what they would find at the mountain’s peak.

Marching up the last of the steps, they came face to face with two looming statues of Rakatan warriors, pointing their bladed staffs at the incomers at the archway entrance of the temple. Moss grew over the eroded faces of the Rakata, obscuring their image behind new growth. It was an almost eerie mirroring of the Rakata’s true legacy, a people deeply corroded over time and then ultimately forgotten. Anakin shivered.

Passing under the archway it was unnervingly quiet, and the diminishing light from the sunset did little to ease the sense of danger presented by the creeping darkness.

“Should we be expecting someone?,” Draven inquired, slowly withdrawing one of his blasters. Wandering into what appeared to be an abandoned courtyard entryway, they stopped in the center, and Draven took the opportunity to pull out another pistol. He turned to Padmé. “I don’t like th—”

He was cut off by a sudden metallic clanking, echoing coldly off of the stone and cutting through the air at a continuous, never faltering pace. It was a sterile sound, tinny and grating, and one instantly familiar. A droid. Whatever kind it was, Anakin wasn’t sure, but the sound was originating from beyond the courtyard, in the next archway that connected it to the rest of the temple. They were unable to see it approaching in the darkness of the corridor ahead, but as it got closer, Anakin realized it was significantly bigger than he anticipated, and next to him, he sensed a spike of alarm from Ventress, shooting into him like a knife.

His head whipped around to her to assess what was wrong, but her eyes were glued to the silhouette of the unseen droid, her eyes and jaw skewed in an expression of shock. When he turned back to face the emerging figure, Anakin felt his shoulders suddenly sink and his body stiffen, torn between reaching for his lightsaber and remaining caught paralyzed by surprise. Both Draven and Padmé had their blasters brandished now, pointed straight at the automaton that stood a mere few meters before them.

Grievous.

Beside Anakin Ventress had ignited her lightsaber, shifting into a traditional Makashi fighting stance, the Force pulsing threateningly around her. Anakin gripped his own, still shocked. Was Grievous Fulcrum? No, that was impossible, and he and Dooku were both killed at the end of the war. Maybe this was a trap after all.

Padmé raised her pistol. “General Grievous,” she spat. “What are you—”

“If you would follow me.”

Padmé started at that, faltering as Grievous promptly turned from them and sauntered forward back into the dark of the archway.

Anakin stared. Grievous was alive, and not only that, but Grievous . . . wasn’t Grievous. The way he spoke, so monotone and automated, without a hint of malice or even bare emotion — he was even polite.

Obi-Wan had had far more experience with the droid general than Anakin had, but he knew well enough that this was, for lack of a better word, new _._ He wasn’t the only one to think so either, the rest of his companions clearly not sure whether to be wary or dumbfounded.

“That was General Grievous,” Clovis said intelligently. His hands were white, gripped loosely around his own blaster, and he looked as if all of the tension in his body had suddenly been smacked out of him, leaving the man awkwardly limp.

Padmé turned to Draven. “Do you think this is a trap?” She glanced at Anakin and Ventress, silently inviting them to add their own input.

Ventress exhaled slowly. “That wasn’t Grievous,” she stated cryptically. “Despite the fact that he’s mostly cybernetics, he still had as tangible a presence in the Force as any other living thing. This,” she gestured to the cyborg, “this is barely substantial, like he’s got no trace of an organic being left in him. From the way he spoke it certainly seems that way.” She scowled. “It’s like he’s nothing more than a shell.”

Padmé pressed a hand to her chin. “But how is this possible at all? Grievous’s dreadnought was shot down, _with him in it.”_

Draven clenched his fists around his blasters. “He survived. One way or the other.”

“What should we do?,” Clovis pressed, shooting a careful glance back at the retreating form of the former general, who mechanically turned around to face them again.

“If you would follow me,” Grievous repeated, cutting in from his place in the corridor, still waiting expectantly for them.

Padmé narrowed her eyes, turning to look up at the spire that capped the enormous temple, catching the last of the glow from the fading daylight. “This is where the holocron brought us,” she resolved, “and we’re going to follow where he leads us.”

Clovis frowned. “And if he leads us to our deaths?”

Padmé’s gaze flew to Anakin. “Do you sense that we’re in danger?”

She was back to prudently studying him, and Anakin realized that despite their short time together on Tatooine, her trust in him was lacking. A seed of doubt had tainted her mind, and now there was a distance between them, more than there already would have been. Ever since they had left Tatooine, Padmé had put up a wall, and though he didn’t blame her for being cautious, the reason for it eluded him, and it nagged him like a festering wound.

“No,” he answered, for which Ventress shot him a look. She had no doubt sensed the sudden, but vicious turmoil that had engulfed him before, and was obviously conscious that there was reason to be wary. Regardless, she didn’t argue, and Padmé nodded confidently in response, spurred on by the refutation.

“Let’s go,” she commanded. “Fulcrum is waiting.”

* * *

Grievous led them through the ancient halls of the Rakatan temple silently, save for the noisy clanking of his robotic joints. Vegetation had infiltrated much of the architecture, similarly to how the Jedi enclave on Dantooine had been partially reclaimed by the land after its abandonment, and numerous full-grown trees sprouted from protruding earth all around them. The temple was teeming with life, but there was also an emptiness that clung to its halls, ghosts that continued to linger in the shadow of a monument to a once great and infinite empire. It was a grim reminder of what the Jedi Temple back on Coruscant had become.

Reaching a second open plaza, they continued to trail behind Grievous, still on edge as they followed him deeper into the time-worn fortress. When the droid abruptly stopped in his tracks before the short staircase that connected to another archway out of the space, Anakin was able to detect footsteps ahead of them, this time devoid of any metallic jangling. His heart rate accelerated slightly. Was this who they had been searching for?

The others were rigid in anticipation as well, and the second before the hidden figure revealed themselves, Anakin felt that simultaneously sharp and ill-defined sense of familiarity, though this was different to what he had experienced before, buried beneath the feelings that were attached to his memories of agony earlier.

Suddenly his breath caught in his throat, and Anakin felt himself sway, suddenly unsteady once more.

From out of the shadows, a cloaked frame emerged, their hood pulled down over their face, but visible were two distinct horns poking out from the cloth. As they got closer, the figure carefully peeled the cowl down. Clearly ragged, but still living and breathing, Anakin’s former padawan strode to the edge of the staircase, stoic as she met the emerging moonlight that shone down on the temple. Ahsoka was alive.

Anakin’s heart was skipping beats now, relieved, overjoyed, and bewildered beyond belief, but he was barely cognizant of that. _Ahsoka was alive._ Jocasta said they never knew if she had survived, but now it was clear as day that she had. He almost felt lightheaded with pure reassurance standing right in front of her, once more reliving his difficult encounters from before, but lingering confusion descended on him as the seconds passed. He found he could only gape at her, just as he had the day she had made contact with him and Obi-Wan for the first time since leaving the Order, just before she had left for Mandalore with Bo-Katan.

Ahsoka eyed each of them stonily, pausing when she got to Anakin and Ventress, but not hanging on them for too long. “You came here for Fulcrum,” she surmised. “You found the holocrons.”

Anakin was stunned by the age in her voice. She was only six years younger than him — she was twenty now — but despite that, she carried the same remnant of enervation in her tone that he had noticed in Ventress earlier. Never before had she sounded so old, just as he had never heard Padmé so angry and guarded, nor any of his other companions so defeated. War and tyranny had driven to the galaxy to its knees, and now it was being held by its throat.

“Come with me,” Ahsoka motioned to them, her voice somewhat softer now, though still reserved and devoid of the energy and youthful humor that had earned her her nickname so long ago.

She turned on her heel, not waiting for a response, striding back under the archway. They quickly followed, Grievous waiting until they had all filed in behind her to silently fill in after them.

Padmé hastened her pace to reach Ahsoka. “Are you Fulcrum?,” she entreated, her earnestness not failing to be noticed by the Togruta. Anakin scanned Ventress to gauge her own reaction, but she was stone-faced, her expression not daring to betray her inner thoughts.

Ahsoka glanced at Padmé out of the corner of her eye. “I promise all of your questions will be answered soon,” she replied.

Padmé didn't seem to be wholly content with that answer, Anakin could detect the ripples of frustration and weariness that rolled off of her, but she said nothing more, allowing Ahsoka to continue leading them further into the temple.

Between Padmé, Grievous, and his padawan, Anakin was starting to feel another headache approaching, his stomach once again churning dreadfully in the face of the unstable ground he now found himself on. Shmi still hung in the back of his mind, as did Padmé’s new distrust of him, and without giving it a second thought, he pushed ahead to catch up to her. She had fallen back a bit, letting Ahsoka keep her distance, and she turned slightly as he reached her.

“Did you sense something?,” she murmured, keeping her gaze trained on their guide before glancing back at him.

Anakin gave her a subdued shake of his head. “Nothing new, but there’s another presence here. One besides Ahsoka and Grievous.”

“Is that her name?” Padmé nodded to the padawan.

“Yes,” he answered, careful not to wince as he realized another slip had escaped him. “She’s a Jedi.”

Padmé dipped her chin. “Did you know she was alive?”

“I asked Jocasta before,” he explained, “and she told me that they never knew for sure. I think they probably expected the worst.”

Padmé nodded before she spoke again. “Do you know her?”

Anakin hesitated, and the senator caught it instantly, but she said nothing.

He finally settled on, “I did,” hoping she would take his pause as part of a normal reaction to stumbling into someone who was long thought dead.

Padmé only silently acknowledged him, her eyes falling from his face and returning to Ahsoka’s back. Anakin could sense conflict swirling in between her thoughts, and he noticed a small quirk in her expression, how her lips pressed into one another and pursed slightly as she followed an agitated train of thought. It was a face he was familiar with, oftentimes when she practiced speeches on him he would see her don it during any rewriting processes, or whenever she was going head to head with another member of the Senate when it was embroiled in a heated session.

He was taken aback when she suddenly spoke, pulled out of his memories by her question.

“Why did that tactical droid say there was no record of you in the Grand Army of the Republic?”

Anakin faltered. “I . . . ,” he struggled, flailing internally as different possible answers danced around him, all of them out of reach. He had to tell her, and more than anything he wanted to. But was now the time or place? What if he just came out and told her right then and there? What would she say, what would she do? Who was to say Padmé would even believe him?

“I really don’t know.” _Great answer._

Padmé gave him a look that was beyond unimpressed, her stare clearly laced with suspect and frustration. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Anakin tried again.

“I promise you, I’m not lying when I’m telling you I _did_ fight in the Clone War, but . . . this,” he sighed, trying to keep his voice down, “this is really hard to explain.”

“Why don’t you just tell me the truth?,” Padmé hissed back. “How am I supposed to believe that anything else you say is true when you insist on convincing me of something that never happened? I _want_ to believe in people, that what they say to me rings true, but these past few years—”

“If it weren’t for that tactical droid would you have any reason to not believe me?”

She didn't answer.

“Padmé, please, there . . . there are things I have to explain, and I promise that I will, but I can't — not here, not now. I know that you really have no reason to believe what I say, but will you at least give me a chance?,” he beseeched her. “The last thing that I want is to betray your trust.”

Their conversation had drawn some attention from the others, and though they were speaking quietly enough for their words to be inaudible, it was obvious that there was some disagreement between them.

Padmé studied the Jedi, her gaze intent, and after a moment she lowered her head before looking back up to him. “I—”

Anakin abruptly let out a gasp of shock as a sudden pain climbed up his spine. _Not again._ He lurched forward, trying to keep his balance, but it was in vain as his legs dropped out from under him. He collided with the earth immediately and his vision swam. It was like his ears were filling with water, and Anakin’s own heartbeat began to hammer louder and louder in his head, so much so that he could barely hear above it. There was an awful tearing sensation in his lungs, and Anakin felt his connection to the Force fracture, like the power that tied him so intimately to it was being splintered apart. He gasped again, writhing as his hand found Padmé’s.

“Please,” he begged, choking on the word. His mind frenzied. He wanted Obi-Wan, _needed_ him. Where was he? His thoughts fell into a disoriented storm as the pain worsened.

“What’s happening?”

He heard Padmé’s horrified voice cutting into the noise around him, her grip tightening around his. He was being crowded now, he knew that much, and he absently recognized Ahsoka’s presence as he felt himself being turned on his back, the motion only making him want to vomit.

“Hurry,” she commanded. “Get him off the ground and follow me, quickly.”

If he were more sound of mind, Anakin would have protested as he was heaved up by his comrades, but the movement itself was enough to upset his body further, and he grimaced silently instead, trying to keep himself from retching.

Padmé still had a hold of his hand, clutching it fiercely while she tried to simultaneously cradle his head and keep his shoulders up. He was quickly losing touch with his senses as they rushed him to their unknown destination, and his body couldn’t seem to decide whether it was numb or if white-hot plasma was running through Anakin’s veins. He could feel himself begin to shake, trembling against his will, and though his sensitivity seemed to be dulled, he suddenly found himself caught between two waves crashing against one another in the Force. One, he blankly guessed, originated from Ventress, echoing her shock at coming face to face with Grievous earlier, though this was much more severe, boiling with resentment, anger, an unbridled hatred that was infused with horror. He sensed some of the same feelings, shock being one of them, radiating from his other companions as well.

The other belonged to the third, hidden presence. Fulcrum. The signature was muted, but still tangibly powerful, and impossibly familiar, a familiarity that evoked the pain of his vision. Anakin almost felt himself suffocating between the auras that radiated from the two presences, and he dipped into darkness for a few seconds as if to instinctively shield himself from the sheer outburst of emotion in the Force. He heard more voices rising up around him, but he was sinking deeper into an unresponsive state, and now he wasn't even sure if he was still holding Padmé’s hand or not.

Absently, he could make out that he was being lowered onto the ground now, dewy moss and grass beneath him. Two fingers reached the center of his forehead, gently pushing down with the slightest amount of pressure. A palm landed on his chest as well, and from the touch Anakin numbly detected a flow of energy, calming the fire that engulfed him. He felt himself breathe, slowly blinking, and becoming more aware of the pain steadily leaving his body. He didn’t move for what felt like an eternity, the exhausted nerves in his twitching fingers letting him know that Padmé was still there.

He blinked again, finally taking in a shallow but substantial breath and letting the focus return to his eyes. The pressure on his head and chest disappeared, but the presence did not, nor did Ventress’s simmering ire, which had taken on an air of uncertainty once more. Padmé was hovering over him on her knees, her cloak falling over her shoulders as she leaned down.

“Anakin?,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

He inhaled again, the star-filled sky blurry above him, and he gave her a faint nod, weakly squeezing her hand. To his solace and surprise she squeezed back, a grim, but thankful smile gracing her face. With immense effort, he turned from her to find the source of his relief, his sight once again having to refocus with the change in view. The presence amplified as he did so, and the feelings of confusion and doubt from his friends became sharper.

At last managing to open his eyes all the way to glimpse his rescuer, Anakin’s throat instantly closed up at the sight, panic, disbelief, guilt, and fear all threatening to send his already strained heart back over the edge. The vehemence he had sensed within his companions and within himself during his vision suddenly resonated with acute clarity, and even if he had the capability to move, Anakin wasn’t sure that he would have been able to. He was staring into the face of another ghost.

“You’ve been through a great deal,” the man now revealed to be Fulcrum said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Anakin wanted to shrink away. “We will speak soon. For now, it is imperative that you get some rest. All of you.”

He stood, moving to direct Grievous and Ahsoka to take them to a space in the temple where they could recuperate. Anakin’s horrified gaze was glued to the man, and as Ventress and Draven gently removed him from Padmé to help him bear his weight as he returned to his feet, tearing his gaze in the process, Anakin couldn’t help but feel that Dooku’s eyes were following him too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I know this was a much shorter chapter compared to the last few, especially chapter fifteen, which was about three times the length of this one, but I wanted to get this out at a reasonable time and I hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless. For those of you who’ve played Knights of the Old Republic, I also hope you appreciated the Rakata inclusion; they’re one of my favorite pieces of old Legends canon and have always been a super fascinating aspect of Galactic history to me personally.  
> Lastly, I am really blown away by the positive feedback, and once again I have to say that this story wouldn’t be possible without you all. This has been super fulfilling thanks to all of you, and I hope you’ll continue to leave comments and criticism below. Thank you again, and have a great day!


	17. Unearthly Children

Night had finally fallen on Seoul, celestial light from the atmosphere falling and glistening over the pale stone of the Rakatan temple. The sky was clear, the feathery clouds that had hovered over the horizon at dusk having disappeared long ago with the setting sun. It was an almost ethereal tranquility, only disturbed by the continual and incessant pounding of Anakin’s overzealous heartbeat.

Sleep eluded him, as it did the rest of his companions, all of them scattered in a room adjacent to the larger temple courtyard. It was a warm night, but a chill had seemed to settle in over each of them, and through his lidded eyes Anakin could see Ventress standing out on the balcony, overlooking the vast valley below them. Waves of restlessness emanated turbulently from her, swirling together in a barely restrained vortex that thrummed with a bitter and sullen vibration.

Anakin blinked, only just possessing the strength to lift his eyelids again, and turned his attention away. He had been deposited on a raised stone bench attached to the far wall, his back resting against it. He was laying on his side, one arm sheltering the other, with his flesh fingers shielding the curve of his steel elbow. Padmé, along with R2, was sitting next to him, her head dipped over and her eyes drooping with it. She must have been half asleep; her exhaustion was palpable in the Force, but ever since Draven and Ventress had settled him down, she had remained beside him. She seemed to be under the impression that he could relapse at any moment, which, in all fairness, appeared to be a real possibility. Her cloak had been lodged under his head as a makeshift cushion, though he had no clear memory of it having been put there. Nevertheless, it was a small comfort that she was at the very least near him, and when he exhaled, it seemed to stir her, and she pressed a tentative palm to his forehead.

Anakin tried not to instinctively lean into the touch, instead closing his eyes and allowing the warmth from her fingertips to wash over him, dispersing the cold that had anchored in his bones. He sighed, drained, and Padmé withdrew her hand, her own relief filling the space between them.

Draven looked up from where he leaned on another outcrop of rock, his brow creased with fatigue and concern. “How is he?,” he croaked.

Padmé shook her head slightly. “I don’t know,” she lamented. “Better than before, but I can’t speak to what that means for him now.”

R2 let out an anxious string of beeps, cooing as he bumped against Padmé’s shin.

Clovis stared at Anakin’s still form warily. “What happened to him?” His voice trembled lightly, his face betraying how unnerved he truly was.

Padmé frowned. “Has this ever happened before?,” she asked, glancing back at Anakin.

Draven looked to the ground, studying it uncomfortably before releasing a tired sigh. “Yes,” he murmured.

Padmé’s eyes fell to the now sleeping Jedi. She turned back to Draven. “What—”

“He’s dying.”

It was Ventress, treading back into their quarters, her arms crossed and her face pulled into a tight scowl. Though her expression was harsh, Padmé could see the fear and somberness that hid in the woman’s eyes, and a pit formed in her stomach as she once again found Anakin, barely moving as he slept. She swallowed, and then hesitated.

“What’s wrong with him?”

The Nightsister’s tone turned grave. “It’s the work of the Sith,” she answered, her voice grating on the word. “Sidious.”

Padmé felt an old iciness begin to seep in her chest, and she pressed her hand to Anakin’s forehead again. She looked desperately back at Ventress. “Can we do anything to help him?” 

To her dismay, the other woman’s severe countenance disappeared, replaced by a solemn mask. “No,” she whispered.

The senator shook her head, not accepting the answer. “There has to be something. Dooku . . . he—he—”

“We _cannot_ trust Dooku,” Ventress snarled, taking Padmé aback. The former assassin tore her gaze from the senator, her lip still curled unpleasantly downward as she looked to her feet.

Draven suddenly stood up. “Did you know?,” he questioned.

Ventress faltered, and the silence that followed seemed to engulf them immediately.

 _“Did you know?,”_ he repeated, his voice rising.

She looked away. “I didn’t want to believe it,” Ventress murmured. “I _couldn’t_ believe it.”

Padmé’s gaze darted between the two of them, while Draven cursed under his breath, clenching his fist. “You knew,” he accused. “And you didn’t tell us.”

Ventress’s sober manner was overturned by a glare that the senator was sure could pierce glass. “What did you expect me to say?,” she seethed. “There’s nothing we can do about that now anyway, and believe me, you have no idea how much I wish I could just change the things I’ve done, but _I can’t,_ and that’s just something we have to live with!”

The outburst was followed by a heavy stillness, leaving them all in a wake of discomfort.

Ventress knitted her eyebrows together, sighing; she almost sounded out of breath, her throat worn. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, once more crossing her arms, cradling her elbows awkwardly. “I should have told you, but I couldn’t let myself accept that he was really here. That he was alive.” She looked forlornly back to the starry atmosphere through the open balcony. “But we can’t trust Dooku. He’s a Sith, and he will use us just as quickly as Sidious would kill us.”

Padmé's eyes trailed back to Anakin beside her. “I’m not inclined to trust Dooku either,” she conceded, “but it was him who was aiding the rebellion the whole time.” Ventress made a face, but Padmé continued. “He’s been feeding us crucial inside information since the Empire’s inception, it’s clear that he and Palpatine’s allegiance is dead. At the end of the war the Senate was told that Dooku’s dreadnought had been destroyed by a Republic battle group, killing both him and Grievous, but naval intelligence data showed that that never happened. There was only one Republic Venator reported at that sector, and that was destroyed by the enemy fleet. At the time, I don’t think people cared to question it, it looked like the war was finally over, but now we know — from Fulcrum and the intelligence they gave us — that Dooku was fired on by _Separatist_ cruisers. Palpatine wanted him dead.”

Ventress had nothing to say to that, her only response being an uncertain glance at Draven.

“What better revenge for Dooku than to dismantle everything that Palpatine worked to build?,” Padmé added. “Besides, it looks like he’s been hiding out with a Jedi all this time. I doubt that if he didn’t have the same interests as us she would still be alive. And,” she started with another glance behind her, “he saved Anakin.”

The Nightsister rested her chin on her fist, studying the senator, her eyes flashing at the Jedi once before returning to her. “Perhaps,” she began, “but Dooku isn’t aiding us because he believes in our _cause._ He wants Sidious dead, and once that’s accomplished, he will use your trust to his advantage. And to your immediate downfall.”

Padmé tilted her head. “Do we have another choice?”

Clovis shifted uncomfortably from where he sat before them, while Draven looked expectantly to Ventress, who shook her head.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, lifting her head to face all of them. “But we don’t.”

* * *

When the morning finally came, so did Grievous, still bearing his robotic mien, uncharacteristically pacific and mild-mannered.

“If you would follow me,” he directed them once again. “My master has prepared tea.”

Anakin had one arm slung over Draven’s shoulder, the latter helping him find his footing. He was feeling significantly better since he had fallen asleep the night before, though his body still ached intensely. That was nothing compared to the sea that was churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Dooku though.

Anakin had never harbored any fear for the man, he had only ever held contempt for him, though never so fiercely that he would execute Dooku in the state he was in just before he died. But nevertheless he did. He was more afraid of himself than anything the former Sith apprentice had planned for him, and Dooku had helped him, he was fighting on their side. He didn’t even _know_ Anakin, though it was likely he had already deduced his significance once they’d arrived at the temple.

Next to him, Ventress seemed to share his sentiment. It was obvious she was distressed, no matter how tightly she held her mental shields shut, and Anakin had to raise his own to keep the roiling agitation from barreling him over.

He was still mulling over how Ahsoka had arrived here as well, not to mention how she came to work side-by-side with Dooku and Grievous, who in and of himself was another mystery. Jocasta had told him before that Master Plo was killed, but how Anakin still was unaware of.

His thoughts subsided, however, as they came upon the steps leading up to an open platform seated in the shade of overarching stone overlooking Seoul’s endlessly stretching valleys. A short balustrade fenced the edges, and vines and other thick overhanging vegetation hung over it. Dooku and Ahsoka were already seated on stone slabs in meditative stances, their legs crossed one over the other. Each of them held a small steaming mug of tea.

Grievous led them up the steps, Anakin struggling momentarily halfway up, and it wasn’t long before they were all faced with the moment they’d been dreading. Dooku looked up from his tea, perfectly unbothered by his guests’ hesitancy, and gestured to the vacant pieces of stone that were assembled in a circle around him.

“Please,” he motioned to them, “sit.”

Reluctantly, Draven helped Anakin down to the nearest rock tablet, directly across from Dooku, as the others took their place in the ring and Grievous set down tea for them. Padmé sat next to him, while Ventress was on his other side. She was glaring at her former master, not daring to blink lest he try something, though it looked like the old man was hardly even aware of her. Once everyone was seated though, he did give her a knowing glance, and Anakin noticed Ventress flinch out of the corner of his eye, before Dooku lazily blew on his tea.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the count said after a moment, still looking into his mug. “I was beginning to worry that I had laid out too difficult a trail, but you can surely imagine the unpalatable result should the Emperor discover that I was alive.”

No one gave him the pleasure of a response, but the man didn't seem surprised by that, lowering his tea slowly before raising his head. He inhaled briskly. “I’m sure you all have questions.”

Padmé was the one with enough courage to speak first. “You were presumed dead at the Battle of Seoul V,” she imparted. “But you’ve been alive all this time. How?”

Dooku stared at the former queen for a few tenuous seconds before replying. Anakin didn’t have to wonder whether he had tried to have her killed in this timeline of events as well. It was evident that the man was intrigued that she had spoken up before her comrades, and without so much hesitation at that.

Ahsoka looked from Dooku to the senator, and the former heaved abruptly, his shoulders sagging with the movement. “We were engaged in battle with the Republic cruiser the _Courageous_ over the planet’s orbit. It had seemed the tide was in favor of my fleet when my flagship was fired on by my supporting vessels,” Dooku explained, his tone taking on a sinister note as he recounted his former master’s treachery. “The ship was taken by Seoul V’s gravitational pull and plummeted to the surface of the planet. The former droid general and I were unable to reach an escape pod, and thus were trapped in the dreadnought as it descended. After we crashed, we were nearly crushed by the deteriorating vessel’s structure, but, to our good fortune, we were spared a gruesome death by this young Jedi.”

Dooku turned to Ahsoka beside him, giving her a slight nod. Anakin felt surprise flare within him. Ahsoka almost looked proud, though she hid her gratification behind a well-practiced neutral expression.

“I was in my starfighter when one of my engines was knocked out during the battle,” she explained. “I was already going down when the flagship was fired on, and I was able to get them out before the whole thing exploded.”

Grievous listened to all of this silently while his companions related the rest of the story.

Draven looked between the Togruta and the former Sith. “Why,” he paused, clearing his throat with a wary glance at Dooku, “go back for the enemy?”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, as if the answer was obvious. “I’m a Jedi,” she answered. “I couldn’t let them die when I knew I had the power to save them.”

Now something more akin to pride bloomed in Anakin’s chest. That was what made Ahsoka a better Jedi than him, than he ever could be. Dooku had torn the Republic apart, was responsible for the deaths of so many innocents, for the war itself, but all Ahsoka saw was a life that could be spared, and so she had lived by her teachings. He felt a strange bittersweetness blossoming now, and he couldn’t help but mourn for the time that they had lost. A somewhat sheepish look flashed across his former padawan’s features fleetingly now, however. She shrugged, “Well, most of them anyway.”

Padmé’s brow furrowed. “Most?,” she echoed.

Ahsoka looked over her shoulder at Grievous, who seemed to be in almost a state of stasis. He was barely moving. Anakin wasn’t even sure he had seen him blink the entire time they’d been there.

“The general here was nearly damaged beyond repair,” Ahsoka explained. “He sustained serious burns in the crash, and his internal organs were either crushed or seared to the point where they weren’t far off from failing. Really the only thing that barely managed to remain intact was his brain. But with all the tissue lost, we had to do some . . . re-outfitting.”

It was then that Grievous bent down in between Ahsoka and Dooku, his claws clutched around an ancient looking teapot. “More tea?,” the cyborg asked, the politeness of his tone jarring against his rasping, mechanical voice. 

“No thank you, Necrosis,” Dooku replied nonchalantly, as if such a sight was nothing to remark at. “We are quite alright.”

Grievous respectfully stood back upright, taking a few steps backwards and returning to his statue-esk posture, still as the stone around him.

“He’s more machine now than man,” Dooku told them casually, stirring his tea. “However much of a man he was before.”

Ahsoka gave Grievous a pitying glance. “I did the best I could at the time,” she disclosed. “But he’ll never be the same as he was.”

“You should consider that a good thing,” Ventress muttered under her breath, scrutinizing the tea as if she were looking for any signs that it could be poisoned.

Anakin eyed Dooku, but it appeared that he hadn’t heard her. Or he was just ignoring her comment. Most likely the latter.

Ahsoka carried on. “We call him Necrosis now. Originally when we re-booted him he referred to himself as Enkay, which probably came from some data about the model of machinery and scavenged droid parts I used to restore him. But the _Necrosis_ was the name of the dreadnought he and Dooku were shot down in, and I used those old pieces and components from the ship to rebuild him, so the name just stuck.”

As Ahsoka finished, Dooku’s attention turned to Anakin. “Now that we have a retelling of events finished, I believe it’s time we get down to more pressing matters,” he asserted, placing his cup down at his feet. His gaze following Dooku’s gesture, Anakin noticed that one of the former master’s boots seemed fitted around his leg strangely, but he quickly lost notice of it when his eyes met the man’s once more.

“I had a vision that you would come,” Dooku revealed, his voice unnervingly still.

Anakin began to feel sick again.

“I didn’t know what to make of it at first,” he continued, pausing to exhale. “But it soon became clear to me how you had arrived here, and why.”

Anakin said nothing, feeling Dooku reaching out in the Force in the space between them.

“It was clear that I had to act quickly to reach you, and that was when I had the holocrons planted for you to find. I knew the Force would not fail me in that regard. I told the rebellion that I knew the key to overthrowing the Emperor. And that key is you.”

All heads turned in his direction, and Anakin found that he was fighting the urge retreat within himself. He tried not to look at any of his companions, instead keeping his eyes trained on Dooku, however difficult that was.

“You are dying,” the man reported plainly, and Anakin felt as if his heartbeat was threatening to rattle every other organ in his body now. “The device responsible is an ancient instrument of the Sith,” Dooku explained. “My former master once educated me in the nature of its intent. Though slight enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand, it is immensely more dangerous than the Mass Shadow Generator that ended the Mandalorian Wars, or even the legendary Star Forge built by the architects of the temple that surrounds you.” The count held Anakin’s gaze in a vice-grip. “It is called the Terminus Sphaera, and it is using the Force to tear you apart.”

Anakin let the information sink in before lowering his head, giving Dooku a weak nod. “Palpatine told me,” he confessed. “When we went to rescue Senator Organa from the Empire, he spoke to me through a hologram. He told me what I had done. What was going to happen to me.”

Dooku’s lip curled. “Deception is the way of my former master,” he stated. “And he told you only to gain power over you, to inject fear into your heart. That you are here now and not with him is a testament to your passing of the first trial, but there will be many more. What Sidious likely failed to tell you however was that the Force is protecting you.”

Anakin picked his head up again. “Protecting me? From what?”

“The Sphaera is wrenching you from the fabric of reality, it has locked onto your presence and is ripping you apart from the inside,” Dooku enunciated. “But the Force is unwilling to let you be taken. It is holding onto you, embracing you tightly, fighting against the power that seeks to destroy you.”

Anakin’s gaze flitted between the cracks in the stone beneath him as he processed the words. “Why?,” he asked.

“It is its will,” Dooku answered simply. “And . . . you are its progeny. Are you not?”

The others, besides Ventress and Draven, once more turned to him with newfound intrigue. Anakin could feel Padmé’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look her in the face. He shrugged, the right response characteristically escaping him. “That’s what I’ve been told,” he murmured.

Dooku allowed some quiet to settle in, breathing in and out gruffly before he spoke again. “When I glimpsed you in my vision,” he began, “you were not the first thing to appear. I saw a woman. She stood in the desert, below binary suns.” Dooku paused, seemingly to gauge his reaction. “I knew then that the planet was Tatooine, but that was not what caught my interest. The Force, it enfolded her the same way it does you, and as the images flashed in my mind, I could discern that she held something in her arms.” Dooku looked at him pointedly. “She was holding you.”

Anakin fidgeted, his heart beating louder now. Still, he refused to look at any of his comrades.

“That she was your mother was evident, as was her sanctity, and thus yours, and my instincts told me something else key about her. I soon recognized that she was the one called Eleousa, or by her own people, the Liberator. The Force revealed to me that you would go to her. And my senses tell me that you did.”

Before Anakin could speak, Padmé did before him, her voice sharp with disbelief. He couldn’t look away from her now. “Abaadh Vokar is your mother?,” she whispered. He knew she was recalling when he had told her before of his past on Tatooine, and now a plain truth had been manifested in her mind. Draven and Clovis were just as surprised, the shock on their faces evident. Padmé shook her head back and forth, Anakin’s lack of response giving her all the answers she needed. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Anakin, with enormous effort, tore his gaze away from her. “There were . . . bigger things at stake,” he answered, which was, at best, a half-truth. He regretfully turned from her to Dooku. “What else did you see?”

The former Sith raised an eyebrow. “An image of the Sphaera was granted to me, as well as the ancient homeworld of the Jedi. But I feel it would be unwise to reveal what else I was shown at the present moment. For the sake of our future it may be prudent to keep that from you for now.”

Anakin breathed in sharply. “You saw Tython?,” he quavered.

The count nodded. “That is where you must go in order to face Sidious.”

“I was told that Obi-Wan went there months ago, that he also experienced a vision. He told the other Jedi that the survival of the Order would lie there,” Anakin related.

“Kenobi was your master,” Dooku surmised.

After a moment Anakin answered, “Qui-Gon found me.”

At that the elder man seemed the closest Anakin had ever seen him to off-guard. “Qui-Gon?,” he echoed. He looked about to ask further, but Ventress interrupted him before he could.

“What is it we’re supposed to find on Tython?,” she questioned, her voice flat, though there was an undercurrent of severity to it.

Dooku was pulled out of his spell, and for the first time, he looked at Ventress head-on, holding her gaze. She challenged him with a slight tilt of her chin upwards, but Anakin could sense that she was still uneasy. It was taking all of her courage to keep her eyes matched with his.

“That still remains a partial mystery to me,” Dooku finally said, withdrawing from he and Ventress’s silent contest. “All I can tell you is that it is only there that you will find the key to facing Sidious. If you attempted to now in your current state, he would kill you, and our fight would be over.”

Anakin hesitated, drifting from Dooku’s eye line before he returned to face him. “On Tython . . . will I find a way to reverse what the Sith artifact has done?”

Dooku narrowed his eyes, sighing once more. “That is beyond my knowledge. My former master was judicial in enlightening me on the dark properties of the instrument and yet withholding any information regarding how its measures might be reversed. I can only tell you that the Sphaera most likely remains with him on Coruscant, in the former Jedi Temple.”

Anakin contemplated that, wondering how in the galaxy they were going to get to the Deep Core when the Empire was so fervently hunting them. He was about to ask when Padmé once more spoke up.

“You said Anakin was dying, but last night, you did something to help him. You stopped his seizure,” she contended. “There must be something we can do to prevent what the Emperor’s done to him.”

“I’m afraid, my dear,” Dooku started, “that that was merely a temporary solution. I simply aided the Force in maintaining and anchoring your friend’s presence, his being, but such an extension of energy is not without its limits, and I’m afraid that the Force’s own power is being used against it. It is only a matter of time until it loses its grip on him.”

“And . . . when is that?” Anakin really, truly didn’t want to know, but he was living on borrowed time, and if he ever hoped to see his children again, to see the galaxy whole — free — as it should be, then it was something he knew he had to be conscious of.

“That depends on how long you are willing to fight for,” Dooku replied. “And how fiercely the Force is willing to fight for you.”

* * *

After Dooku had deemed their conversation finished, he sent the others away under Grievous’s chaperonage to tend to their own wounds. He had asked Anakin to follow him and Ahsoka, though not before Ventress had shot him a warning glance. _Be careful,_ her eyes said, but Anakin didn’t need her to remind him. He was still feeling the pain of his missing limb.

As he moved to turn back around however, he caught Padmé’s gaze, and he found in it the same familiar shadow of uncertainty. Every moment he was with her he was lying by omission, and that was clearer now than ever, especially to her. She was still unaware as to the true nature of his situation, he was grateful Dooku hadn’t said anything incriminating to expose his position — he wanted to tell her on his own terms — but he didn’t know how much longer he could carry on like this. Sooner or later they were going to hit a wall.

Padmé seemed to carry a warning of her own in her eyes, and Anakin hoped his own expression conveyed that he understood. And his regret in not sharing the truth with her. Thankfully, Padmé acknowledged him, albeit silently, with a subtle nod of her head, and he tried to take some comfort in that.

After parting with the others, he trailed behind Dooku, Ahsoka beside him, as they wandered through the maze of corridors and pathways of the Rakatan fortress. As they walked, Ahsoka turned to him.

“So is it true you’re from an alternate universe?,” she asked. There was some levity in her tone, and she wore a smile, and Anakin was grateful for the small relief that that brought.

“Something like that,” he replied, wondering if Dooku was listening to them.

She inclined her head. “Did we know each other?,” she questioned after a moment.

Anakin was almost startled by the inquiry. Should he tell her? He breathed in hesitantly, looking away before turning back to her. “As a matter of fact,” he started, “pretty well.”

Ahsoka instantly brightened at that, mirroring Anakin’s memories of her during the first year of the war, before it had truly quelled her limitless enthusiasm and inherent innocence. He smiled.

“Really?,” she asked, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Anakin chuckled at that, the feeling almost forgein. “No, I promise, we do—did.”

A faux expression of skepticism crossed over Ahsoka’s face. “Prove it. What’s my name?”

Anakin smirked. “You’re Ahsoka Tano. You were found by the Order when Master Plo Koon came to Shili to take you back to the Temple. You’ve been practicing Jar’Kai combat since you were fifteen, when you went on your second trip to Illum to retrieve another kyber crystal.” Ahsoka’s jaw was slack, but Anakin kept going. “And though you were of course fond of lightsaber training, it was always a pain to get you to actually do your formal studies, though it was never really my strong suit either. You certainly received better feedback from the masters on your work than me though.”

Ahsoka blinked at him, a curious but humored look cast over her face. “Were we in the same initiate clan or something?,” she guessed.

He laughed lightly. “No,” he responded, still smiling. “I came to the Temple a little too late to be sorted into a clan.”

She eyed him closely, the gears clearly turning in her head. “Hmm,” she pondered to herself, facing forward again. “Any hints you could give me?”

“Not without spelling it out, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, of course.” She sighed good-humoredly, shaking her head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were my master.”

Anakin looked at her pointedly. She tilted her head back to him, then facing forward again before double-taking and giving Anakin a hasty once-over.

“You’re _not,”_ she said.

He smirked again, shrugging.

Her expression fell from disbelieving to somewhat somber, once more looking him up and down.

“You were my master?,” she asked quietly.

Anakin nodded. “I was.”

She knitted her brow. “No offense, but you look a little young for a padawan,” she observed.

“Well,” Anakin paused, “I was. It was only a few months between my knighting and the beginning of your padawanship. I was your age, actually.”

Ahsoka scrunched up her nose. “That’s . . . unorthodox,” she muttered. “That almost doesn’t sound right.”

“It wasn’t,” he rasped. “They never should have you sent to a war zone.” He was aware he was clenching his fists now, but he didn’t care. “You were a child.”

Up ahead, Dooku seemed to slight in his step, but Anakin wasn’t sure. He merely appeared to quicken his pace, treading over the paved earth with an odd stagger. His eyes lingered on Dooku’s leg, but his attention was drawn away again when Ahsoka spoke.

“It was Master Plo who found me,” she murmured. “I always had a bond with him. It seemed the will of the Force that he was my teacher.”

Anakin sensed her grief now, the sting of a severed training bond, painfully tangible, hanging in the air. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, wishing he could do more than give her words that rang hollowly between them. “He was always looking out for you, as far as I can remember,” he informed her gently. “And though he wasn’t your master, it was indisputable how proud of you he was.”

Ahsoka turned back to him, her gaze calculating, but after a few moments it softened, and she smiled. “I appreciate that,” she confessed. Her eyes fell to her feet momentarily, hovering there before she met his gaze again. “Was I a good student?”

He gave her a faint smile. “The best,” he answered sincerely. “You probably managed to teach me more than I ever taught you.” He let his shoulders drop with a sentimental huff, nostalgic. “You became a better Jedi than I could ever hope to be,” he added.

Ahsoka seemed a little nonplussed at first at the remark, but her presence in the Force quickly warmed, and she smiled back. “So what do I call you then?,” she posed. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“Anakin Skywalker,” he said with a slight bow, something that seemed to amuse his former padawan.

“Well, Master Skywalker,” she began, “I’m glad to meet your acquaintance.”

“Anakin, please,” he replied, “and the pleasure is mine.” A thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he hesitated. “When I was with the other Jedi on Dantooine, Jocasta told me they never knew if you had survived the Purge. I tried reaching out in the Force to look for you, but there was nothing. I thought that . . . you might not have made it.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka perked up. “Well, we’ve been suppressing our connection to the Force. Not so much that we’ve closed ourselves off from it,” she explained, “but enough that the Sith won’t be able to pick up on our presence.” She glanced at Dooku. “How are the others?,” she asked. “How many of them are there? Are they alright?”

Anakin sighed. “Not many,” he professed. “A couple of padawans, very few younglings, the rest were knights and masters. There weren’t more than twenty of them in total on Dantooine. Madame Jocasta and Ch—Senator Mon Mothma told me it was rare to receive any other surviving Jedi there. I don’t know how many more are left besides them.”

Ahsoka looked downcast at that, and he wondered if she was thinking of Barriss. There was no question in Anakin’s mind about the feelings he harbored towards her after the events that had led to Ahsoka’s arrest and eventual expulsion; regardless of her idealism and supposedly noble crusade — one that Anakin couldn’t deny to himself was rooted in some sentiment he shared — Barriss had killed innocent people, civilians and Jedi alike, and had set up Ahsoka to die for it. After all this time however, he and Ahsoka had never spoken of it, and he wondered whether she had ever forgiven her. Had Barriss even become such an extremist in this world? Had she and Ahsoka even met?

“Were . . . you hoping Barriss Offee was among them?,” he probed gently.

Ahsoka looked at him in surprise, and Anakin felt her somberness turn acrid, and she shook her head brusquely. “Barriss Offee died. A long time ago.” She apparently sensed his shock in the Force, and she clenched her jaw. “I don’t know how you remember it,” she began slowly, “but Bariss, in the third year of the war, she—she carried out a bombing on the Temple. She destroyed an entire hangar, killing clones, Jedi, and civilian Temple staff. A few weeks later though, it was like she . . . snapped. She told her master everything, and was taken into government custody without a fight. They executed her a few days later.”

Anakin was silent. His mind wandered back to Qui-Gon’s death, and he shivered with the thought that some things couldn’t be changed.

Interrupting the quiet, Dooku abruptly turned back on his heel, stopping, and Anakin realized they’d reached a grassy cliffside overlooking the valley, the temple walls just behind them.

“Padawan Tano,” Dooku began, all crisp formality with a nobleman’s tone. “You should return to our guest’s quarters to help Necrosis tend to them, perhaps provide them with something to eat after their long journey.”

Ahsoka pouted, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one foot. “Master Dooku—”

“Now.”

The command was curt and sharp; it reminded Anakin of Obi-Wan whenever he had pushed his master to the end of his rope.

With a sigh of defeat, Ahsoka bowed to Dooku and Anakin. “I’ll see you later then,” she nodded at the latter. Dooku watched her trudge back to the temple, stoic as he turned his sights on Anakin.

He observed him silently before settling down on the grass into a meditative stance, beckoning the younger man to do the same. “Being her master, you are likely familiar with her obstinance,” he grumbled.

“So you were listening,” Anakin returned.

“My boy, you two did not take especially great care to keep your voices low,” the old man riposted. “I would have had a harder time blocking you out than straining myself to hear.”

Anakin shuffled on the damp grass, looking out over Seoul’s lush forests. “So what exactly are we doing here?,” he asked.

“I am going to teach you how to maintain yourself the next time you fall prey to the machinations of the Sith,” Dooku answered unceremoniously. “It will not save you from much pain, but you may be able to sustain yourself momentarily when you again find yourself in such a position.”

Anakin stared at him, and Dooku raised an eyebrow.

“Well, are you going to sit there like an opened-mouthed worrt frog or do as I do? Or do I need to remind you that our situation is time sensitive?”

The young Jedi blanched, moving his hands to clasp them over his knees, sitting up straighter and pushing his shoulders back. He started to wonder if this was what Qui-Gon had had to put up with during his apprenticeship, but at Dooku’s lips pressing together in an unimpressed scowl he perished the thought.

“Now,” he began, “I overheard something about you being too old to be sorted into a clan when you arrived at the Temple.” He glanced at Anakin’s gloved hand before he continued. “When was that?”

“I was nine,” he answered.

Dooku curled a hand around his chin, stroking it. “Nine?,” he echoed, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“Yeah, that was the Council’s reaction too,” Anakin said impassively. “And Jocasta’s.”

Dooku’s eyes flitted to the earth, and he leaned forward somewhat, collecting his thoughts. “I imagine . . . that would have been a burdensome time, those first few years with the Order.”

Anakin couldn’t help but frown. “It didn’t get easier as time went on either,” he remarked. He shook off the feelings of bitterness from his childhood. They didn’t need to be distracting him right now.

“The Council was averse to your training, obviously,” Dooku gathered. “Master Yoda would not have been keen, I presume.”

Anakin could hear the whirring of the motors in his prosthetic as his fingers danced in agitation. “They said I was dangerous,” he murmured. Obi-Wan’s own apprehension was still vivid in his memory, even after all these years. He knew they had grown past that now, but sometimes it was hard to forget. He felt everything so deeply, the Force was so _loud,_ he couldn’t help it when his master’s fears of his ability to teach, of what he was going to do without Qui-Gon, of Anakin himself, infiltrated his mind. He couldn’t help it.

Dooku scrutinized Anakin’s silence, and he shook his head. “And it is exactly that attitude that would deliver you into Sidious’s grasp.”

Anakin looked up.

“The Jedi would have you suppress yourself, subdue your power. But for one of your potency, in attempting to control you, they would destroy you,” the former Sith stated. “It is hubris to think one can tame the sea, to cage a violent storm. The Jedi thought they could restrain you, mold you. But at your age and capability, they could not have better set themselves up to fail.” Anakin processed Dooku’s words, staring at him uncertainly. “Tell me,” the man started again, “what did the Jedi teach you the moment you arrived at the Temple, what was the first thing they taught you to be afraid of?”

He knew the answer without even having to think.

“Myself.”

And that was it. Out there in the open now, Anakin didn’t know whether the thought had lifted a weight from his shoulders or dropped a rock into his stomach. Yoda’s mantra, his warning of the dangers and consequences of fear echoed hollowly in his head, and he clenched his knees tighter.

Dooku studied him, his eyes then returning to the dirt and grass below his feet.

“As beings attuned to the cosmic energy of the universe, we are effectively wells of its power,” he explained, waiting for Anakin to acknowledge that he was hearing him before he continued. “Imagine the Force as a great ocean. We draw from a fraction of its power, and with patience, effort, and concentration, we are able to heave the water from its source. You however, are not a well,” Dooku proclaimed. “You are the ocean itself, and the immensity of the entity within you is both a strength and a weakness. That is something you must accept if you are to master yourself, and if you are to learn this technique.”

Anakin inhaled, slowly comprehending the old master’s speech. He remembered Obi-Wan once trying to impart a similar lesson about the nature of the Force and the Jedi’s connection to it, but Dooku’s eloquence had illuminated something new for him.

“Where do we start?,” he asked.

“Allow yourself to slip into a meditative trance,” Dooku directed. “Feel the Force, feel life as it is.”

Anakin did as he said, closing his eyes and reaching out to the world that surrounded him, the grass stirring in the wind, the trees digging their roots deep into the earth, the birds and insects taking wing far above. He took on the awareness of the harmony that existed on the planet, feeling the energy permeating the air that he breathed.

“Do not remain on the surface,” he heard Dooku instruct. “Do not tread water and try to maintain complete consciousness. Allow yourself to sink. Stop fighting.”

Anakin exhaled steadily, his heartbeat stilling as he did so. Soon enough, he could barely hear it in the noise he was drowning in, but against what his mind told him, he didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t go up for air.

It was starting to get louder and louder, the tempest of life devouring him, sweeping him into its currents, and that was when Dooku spoke again, his voice almost lost in the crescendoing song.

“This is the Force,” he murmured slowly. “It is an ocean, its mists drifting from living creature to creature, set in motion by currents and eddies. It is the eye of the storm, the passions of all living things turned into energy. Into a chorus.”

Anakin sunk deeper now, finding that he no longer desired air. In the realm that he now found himself occupying, his mind had let go of that thought, and he could subtly feel his body responding to the meditation.

“It is the rising swell at the end of life,” Dooku continued, his voice now an echo in Anakin’s head.

There was something he was drifting towards as he kept diving down, something he unconsciously realized was not at the heart of this swirling stream on which the Living Force flowed, but within himself.

“The promise of new territories and new blood.”

The noise rose in tempo and volume as Anakin dove further inside himself. There was something he had hidden in the depths, something that had been banished there since he had first set foot in the Jedi Temple.

“The call of new mysteries in the dark.”

He was beginning to grasp it now, a primordial energy that reached out to him as he did to it, tendrils of power curling around him.

“Feel this moment.”

Suddenly, the noise died, all at once in the one terrible second that Anakin dared to fall into the increasingly familiar aura’s embrace.

“Feel life as it is.”

Anakin’s mind, chest, and body all felt as if they were violently split open, energy pouring in and out of him like he was a wildfire, like he was a sun. A supernova. Dooku’s presence faded from his mind. He could feel everything and nothing, unsure if he was about to implode or burst open. He had the immediate and most alien, yet fervent urge to shed his skin, to escape it so that he was no longer trapped and restricted by his small, human body. It was overwhelming, freeing, and terrifying, feeling whatever was inside him lashing out, bearing unbending rows of teeth, wildly flailing limbs, and thousands of exuberantly unfurling wings that nearly crushed him with their weight. If he was screaming or crying, he couldn’t hear himself, merely consumed by blinding light, his blood boiling. Whether a handful of seconds or a century had passed, Anakin didn’t know, but without warning, the light flickered, and he suddenly fell back into his body.

He failed to process his senses for a few moments, finding himself not as he was sitting before, but laying on the grass, the side of his face pressed against the earth as he heaved, trying to catch his breath. His heartbeat thrummed in his head, and Anakin blinked rapidly, discovering that Dooku was indeed still there in front of him. The older man was also breathing laboriously, and though he had remained in his meditative position, he was hunched over, one hand clenching his knee, the other planted solidly on the ground, as if some gale of wind had threatened to blow him to the other side of the mountain.

They looked at each other in a haze of dumbstruck shock, still attempting to catch their breath. After a minute, Anakin noticed that Dooku had a stream of blood trickling from his nose, steadily dripping down over the dirt. He was about to ask what had just happened when Dooku finally spoke.

“I may have underestimated your . . . reaction,” he coughed, taking a moment to clear his throat. “You seem to have reopened yourself. At least partially.”

“What was _that?”_ Anakin could hear his voice tremble as he pushed himself up, pausing for the sake of his still aching body.

“That was you,” Dooku answered calmly, wiping the blood from his face before more poured out of his nose.

“What — what do you mean?,” Anakin breathed, still heaving.

Dooku looked at him expectantly. “It is that power within you that the Jedi attempted to control, that my master would like nothing more than to possess.” Dooku narrowed his eyes. “You are the Force.”

The events he had seen on Mortis flashed in his memory, the Daughter’s death and Ahsoka’s resurrection. That had been nothing compared to what he had just experienced.

“That’s — that’s . . .”

“Impossible?,” Dooku interrupted. He fruitlessly wiped more blood from his philtrum, more droplets coursing out to replace the others. “I once thought so too, but the Force does not lie. I feel it within you. And you do too.”

Anakin shuddered. He never wanted to feel that way again, though he couldn’t deny the sense of . . . confinement that hovered over him now, like gravity pushing down on his body. “How is that supposed to help me?,” he quavered.

“What I had hoped you would understand would be how to anchor yourself by dipping into your presence in the Cosmic Force itself,” Dooku stated. “It seems that this was a bit more overwhelming for you than I had thought,” he conceded. “But that is also why you must go to Tython. There is where the secrets of the Force will be revealed to you, and you will be able to face my master.”

Anakin shook his head. “I just want to reverse all of this,” he pleaded. “I just need to get to the artifact and fix everything.”

Dooku frowned. “That may not be within your power,” he divulged. “You are here to restore balance, though that does not mean you can restore the galaxy to its former self in the process.”

Anakin was about to argue, but the other man cut him off.

“I am not in the state to discuss this now,” he asserted. “What you must understand is that this is but one of many trials that still lay ahead of you.” He glanced at Anakin’s hand again. “I suspect that you have already suffered through quite a few.”

Anakin followed Dooku’s gaze, then stared back at him incredulously.

“I sincerely hope you didn’t cut your own arm off with your lightsaber,” he remarked at the Jedi’s silence.

 _“You_ cut my arm off,” Anakin snapped, eliciting a somewhat perturbed reaction from the old man. “And your former apprentice was kind enough to give me this,” Anakin added, titling his chin to the side to flash the scar running down his eye. “And that was the least of it,” he growled. Anakin wasn’t sure what made Dooku more uncomfortable, the revelation that he was responsible for his injuries or mentioning Ventress. He huffed, turning away.

Dooku shifted. “I . . . apologize for that,” he began.

Anakin scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what Asajj said too.”

The other man turned to the valley below. He sighed. “I was so disillusioned with the Republic and the Order for so long,” he murmured. “I believed that in order for the galaxy to truly be done justice by its government, the Republic could not simply be reformed. It had to be completely and utterly eradicated, so that a system free of prejudice and greed could come to be.”

Anakin stared at him, his frown dissipating as the count continued.

“Whatever worlds did not join the Separatist coalition were annihilated. They were means to an end, ultimately,” Dooku explained solemnly. “War was for the good of the galaxy, it would be the evidence that the Republic could not fulfill its promises, would expose it for the corruption that festered within.” He exhaled. “The Empire has gutted the Republic from the inside, and now I see what the death of democracy and the Jedi has wrought. I will not deny that the powers at be were flawed. They were. Sidious’s rise to power is proof of that. But now that the Republic has been destroyed anyway, I may have the chance now to redeem it. And myself.”

Anakin was silent. If things had gone differently on the _Invisible Hand,_ if Dooku had lived, would he have ever repented this way? Guilt and uncertainty wormed into his thoughts, and Anakin felt cold.

Dooku turned back to him. “Would you help me stand?,” he asked.

Anakin blinked, his eyes falling back to Dooku’s leg. A glimmer of the sun’s light reflected off of the steel that peeked out from one of his boots. “I have had my own share of trials,” Dooku said, pulling Anakin back into reality. The younger Jedi nodded, grasping the master’s hand and helping him get to his feet. He swayed slightly as he put weight on his prosthetic, but he quickly righted himself, marching forward without delay.

“Come Skywalker,” Dooku ordered. “Tomorrow you must leave. For now, it’s best we rest.”

* * *

When Anakin finally reunited with the others, the sun had already begun its descent back to the horizon. Apparently Seoul’s day-night cycle was much briefer than most planets’. He found Ahsoka with them, explaining how she and Dooku had begun their partnership.

“There was smoke and ash _everywhere.”_ Ahsoka was gesturing animatedly as she recounted the story. “The whole ship was in flames, but when I found them on the bridge the fire hadn’t spread there yet. I had to lift the collapsed ceiling to get to them, but when I finally pulled Dooku out of the wreckage, his leg was completely crushed. I had to cut off everything below his knee with my lightsaber.”

His companions seemed morbidly invested in the tale the padawan was telling them, though Clovis had a squeamish grimace on his face, and Ventress was plainly scowling. When he walked into the room Ahsoka stopped talking, and looked up, the rest of them following her example.

Padmé stood. “What did Dooku want?,” she asked.

Anakin would rather leave out the man’s attempt to coax his inherent power into the light. “He explained to me why we need to go to Tython,” he told her. “And Jocasta told me Obi-Wan is there. He’s going to give us the coordinates for an ancient hyperspace route that Jedi used to get to Tython thousands of years ago. It’s not listed on any official databases, so we’ll get to the Deep Core safely.”

Padmé nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning then,” she decided.

“And how do we know that those coordinates won’t send us directly into a sun?,” Ventress drawled, a bitter edge in her voice sharpening her words.

“Dooku would never do that,” Ahsoka countered. Ventress glared at her, but the younger girl didn’t stand down. “We’re all fighting for the same thing. He’s changed.”

Ventress rolled her eyes and curled her lip. “That doesn’t change what he’s done,” she bit back. Abruptly she stood up, walking out the door past Anakin without a passing glance. “I’m going for a walk,” she grumbled, disappearing behind an adjacent wall.

Anakin watched her go. Dooku had hurt them both, but the wounds inflicted on Ventress cut much deeper than his. To be betrayed by one’s master . . . Anakin couldn’t fathom it. He imagined that the revelation of who Palpatine really was came close though, as did Obi-Wan’s undercover mission as Hardeen during the war. Shattered trust was a difficult thing to rebuild, if at all, and it had taken weeks for Anakin to warm back up to his master after that. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still angry about it.

A moment later, Ahsoka stood too, sighing awkwardly. “Maybe I’d better go,” she said. “You guys have another long trip ahead of you.” She started towards the doorway, pausing once she got to it. “Unless . . . you need an extra hand?”

“You want to come with us?,” Anakin asked, perking at the possibility.

Ahsoka smiled. “I’ve been in hiding on this planet for years now, and though I know I’ve been doing good as Fulcrum with Dooku, I want to get back in the action. I can’t stay here anymore, and something tells me that I can do a lot more for the rebellion if I go with you.”

“We could use all the help we can get,” Padmé replied. “Will Dooku want you to go though?”

Ahsoka laughed. “Aww, he’s not in charge of me,” she grinned. “I don’t think he’ll like it, he doesn’t want me putting myself in the thick of it, but it’s not for him to decide when and how I should put my life in danger. That’s my choice, and I choose to go where you do.”

“Are you sure?,” Padmé asked.

“What do I have to lose?,” Ahsoka shrugged. “If I can do anything to help, then I will. This is what I was trained for.”

That answer seemed to satisfy the senator. “Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” the Togruta bowed. “Nevertheless, I’ll leave you all to yourselves. I’ll come and get you in the morning.” With that she left, heading out the same way Ventress had minutes before.

It didn't take long for Draven and Clovis to drift off after that, falling under the fatigue that the night brought with it. Padmé looked to Anakin from across the room, catching his eye. “I think Ventress had the right idea,” she said softly. “Want to get some fresh air?”

Anakin was surprised at the request, but he of course obliged her, following Padmé out to the ridge that sat at the edge of the mountain. They seated themselves on a stone outcrop, staring towards the light emanating from a city nestled far away in the valley, casting a faint glow over the forest. Under the lavender sky, in the stillness of the planet’s twilight, it almost seemed that far beyond, there was no war, no suffering, and for the first time since he had arrived, Anakin felt like he was at peace. If only for a moment.

“Can I ask you something?,” Padmé bid sometime after they had sat down.

Anakin turned to her, and she looked down to his waist. “What is that you’re carrying?” She nodded at the japor snippet wrapped around his belt, resting on his thigh. “I saw many people on Tatooine wearing them,” she murmured. “Can I ask what they mean?”

Anakin pulled the japor’s coarse jerba cord from his belt, sheltering it in his palm. “To some,” he whispered, “they’re supposed to provide good fortune.” Padmé eyed the trinket thoughtfully as Anakin turned it over in his hand. “But really, we carve them so that we don’t forget each other,” he explained.

At Padmé’s curious expression, he continued.

“Sometimes families get separated when the master decides to sell one of them. We call it being 'sold on,'” Anakin disclosed. Padmé was quiet. “To make sure we don’t forget one another, we each carve a japor snippet for the other person, so we keep them close to us. The masters can take away our water, our children,” he nearly choked on the word, swallowing before going on, “they can take away our very lives. But the one thing they cannot take away is our memories.”

Padmé reached out a tentative finger to brush against the intricate lines chiseled delicately into the ivory.

“This may be the only thing a slave ever owns,” Anakin lamented, and Padmé drew her hand away.

“Who . . . who made you yours?,” she asked, hushed.

“My mother,” he whispered back, blinking away tears.

Padmé didn’t question him about Shmi and her alias, merely inclining her head in understanding. “Did you ever make one for someone?,” she asked a moment later.

Anakin’s fingers curled around the ornament. He looked up to find Padmé’s sincere gaze, her face tinged by the last warm light of the day. “Once,” he breathed. “A long time ago.”

She glanced at the japor. “Do you think they still remember you?” Her voice was as soft as Anakin had ever heard it, and he held himself back from curling into her and just letting his tears fall right then and there.

He shook his head, at the last moment catching a sob and managing to force it to come out as a strangled laugh. “No,” he said wetly, plastering a false smile on his face. “They’ve forgotten all about me by now.” He could feel Padmé’s dismay at his answer, and when he looked up again, he could see it on her face. Inside he was dying with the need to tell her who he was, who she was to him, but he didn’t know how. Where would he possibly start?

“Hey,” she began, “look at me.” She held out a hand to tip up his chin, holding his gaze with the fierce fire that burned in her eyes. “I promise you, I’m not going to let you die, alright? We’re going to stop Palpatine and we’re going to save the galaxy. And we’re going to saveyou. Okay?”

Anakin stared at her.

Padmé drew her eyebrows up. “Okay?,” she asked again.

He blinked. “I—okay.”

Anakin started to smile, and Padmé did too.

“I promise,” she vowed once more.

“Okay,” he whispered back, still smiling, like he was being let in on a secret. “I believe you.”

And he did.

* * *

Dooku was less than happy when Ahsoka had revealed her intentions to join the others on their journey, but the girl had stood up for herself quite admirably if Anakin had anything to say about it, and she was wholly adamant in her resolve.

“I’m not a padawan anymore,” she asserted. “This is my Trial of Courage, and it is my duty as a Jedi to face that trial.” Her frown had softened then though, and she strode back to the man who had become her master as the others lingered before the ship. “I have to do this,” she maintained. “I need to go with them so that I can finish what you started.” She bowed. “I won’t fail you.”

Dooku’s hand on her shoulder prompted her to bend back up to him, and the older man sighed, his age shining through. “I know,” he replied.

Ventress observed the scene silently, glaring at them with as much quiet ferocity as she could muster. Her anger was not unnoticed by Anakin, nor Dooku it seemed, and as Ahsoka headed towards them and they moved to board, the old master called out to her.

“Asajj,” Dooku appealed, stoic.

Ventress halted in her tracks, her fists clenched tightly and her teeth grating into one another. One part of her appeared to want nothing more than to turn around, while the other urged her to ignore her former master’s call. Eventually, with a reluctant huff, she twisted her head around, not bothering to move the rest of her body.

“Asajj,” Dooku said again, “I do not expect any kindness from you, nor do I deserve it.”

Ventress still bore her severe mask, but the roiling ripples in the Force seemed to calm slightly.

“You are justified in your hatred, and I will not take that from you, but I would wish for you to understand that I could not loathe myself more for any other deed than for what I did to you.” Dooku’s years bled through the lines in his face more prominently now, his exhaustion and regret almost palpable. “In fear of my master, I turned on my apprentice, and I do not offer that as an excuse, but merely for you to judge me as you will. You have come so far after all this time, and I could not be more . . . proud to know that you have made your way back to the Light, though I know I did nothing to aid you on that path.”

Ventress turned now, facing Dooku fully.

“I do not deserve your forgiveness, my apprentice. All I desire is that, at what could be our last meeting, you at least know that you have done right by me. Even though I have never done right by you.”

The Nightsister gazed at her former master in doubt now, unsure of what to do. Her eyes darted to her feet and she sighed, staring back at him. “I don’t think I can forgive you,” she whispered, “but . . . thank you.” She nodded. “May the Force be with you.”

Dooku bowed back. “May the Force be with you.”

They moved to board the shuttle then, bidding Dooku and what had become of Grievous goodbye. Before Anakin could climb in after his companions, the old man’s voice gave him pause once more.

“Skywalker.”

Anakin turned. Dooku looked like little more than an old man now, tired and sad, regret plaguing his deteriorating form like flies that feasted on a carcass. 

“If you see Jocasta again,” the master began, “please tell her — tell her that I am sorry.”

Anakin dipped his head. “I will,” he promised.

“Do not fear yourself, Skywalker,” Dooku called out as he turned his back to him again. “Do not fear who you are meant to be.”

Anakin hesitated at the mouth of the ship’s entry ramp. He looked at Dooku for perhaps the last time. “I know,” he said.

“Go then,” the master replied. “You have much that lies ahead of you. May the Force be with you, young Skywalker.”

The ramp door closed and the ship departed from the earth. The Rakatan temple looked so small below them, as did the planet when they finally reached Seoul V’s atmosphere. Anakin sat down in the co-pilot’s chair next to Ventress once they had inputted the hyper lane coordinates. She was tense, and she seemed to refuse to acknowledge him, her gaze squarely focused ahead of her. 

“You okay?,” he asked.

Ventress outstretched her arm across the shuttle console, prepping the ship for hyperspace travel. “No,” she said after several moments, her voice hoarse. She looked at him with visible resolve after a moment though, and gathered the strength to flash him a subdued smile. “But I will be.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone, thank you all for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I had lots of fun writing this one, and, as always, I would love to hear your thoughts.  
> For those of you who picked up on Kreia’s monologue from Kotor II here, I hope you enjoyed its inclusion; I am always happy to indulge in Knights of the Old Republic lore and I definitely got a kick of being able to include some of that content here.  
> For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I also wish you a happy holiday.  
> Thank you again for reading! Have a great day!


	18. The Cadaverous Divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! I’d really like to thank all of you for your patience as I worked to get this chapter out at a reasonable time. So many of you have been wonderfully vocal in the comments and as always I couldn’t be happier for it; your support means a great deal and makes this endeavor incredibly rewarding. Please enjoy the chapter, and have a wonderful season.  
> [To avoid any confusion I also wanted to make a note that I recently changed my username; this account formerly went by sjtuscany].

“You’ve been avoiding my transmissions.”

The resistance encountered on Tatooine had been unexpectedly fierce; the rebel forces stationed there had managed to hold out until the arrival of the elite garrisons, which quickly shattered the ranks of the remaining insurgents. It was an empty victory, however. Though the planet was now under tight Imperial control, they had expended a great amount of resources in securing it only to crush the rebellion once and for all. And they had failed.

Tarkin had always considered himself a man who needn’t fear for the state of his career. He was confident in his security not because of powerful and advantageous alliances, which were of course still useful in their convenience and merit, but because he knew his own value. He was not naive enough to place his confidence in the trust of others, especially within the system he served, and he was not too unobservant to disregard that those who did often found themselves used and promptly discarded. And though Tarkin had always enjoyed a life of high privilege, he was not ignorant of how quickly it all could be taken away; he could still taste the vicious bitterness on his tongue at the thought, and his palms seemed to sweat in anticipation of such a devastating occurrence.

Tarkin had seen years of war, seen death on a scale that seemed to shake the galaxy itself. He had become an accomplished captain during that time — a highly respected military commander; he had made himself indispensable to the war effort and the Republic itself then, and since he had only ascended in his power and prestige. He fought for order and wealth and reputation. And he would die for them. But now, for perhaps the first time, Tarkin had truly failed Palpatine, and when the Emperor spoke, he felt as if he was standing atop a great mountain, the wind threatening to throw him to the deathly crags below.

And if he was not taken by a stone piercing through his heart, the ocean below would surely swallow him.

In the past, it would have been easy to expel the effort needed to quell such sentiments; they were distractions, fatuous fears that only served to distance him from reality — a luxury he could not afford more than any other man in his position. But the Emperor’s dissatisfaction — his dwindling patience — was palpable in the sterile air, and to look into his eyes Tarkin only felt a burning shame and biting sense of disgrace that boiled inside him.

This endeavor had become an increasing string of failures, and it became more and more difficult and demanding to offer excuses for each consecutive misstep, the next of which could see him in a state much more severe than demotion.

He had clasped his arms tightly behind his back, rigid in his posture next to the kneeling form of the Supreme Commander, who, as of yet, had said nothing save for his reluctant greeting of acknowledgement towards his master. It was pitiful; a paltry display in which the two of them could do nothing more now than admit to the emptiness of their cup, the incapacity of their combined forces. For all the prestige of their titles, they had pathetically little to show.

Tarkin felt Palpatine’s own disgust frothing in his stomach, and at the subtle curl of the Emperor’s lip he steeled himself, gathering his tactfulness to compose a response that hopefully would not elicit the compression of his windpipe.

“My deepest apologies, my lord,” he began, bowing deeply to exhibit the sincerity of his self-reproach. “We had hoped to have good news to share when we reestablished communications with Your Excellency.”

“And yet it has been nothing but the contrary.”

Tarkin was so accustomed to the song of favor and so rarely heard mutual respect in Palpatine’s tone when addressing him that he almost failed to recognize the Emperor’s voice. It was startling, and he had to hold himself in the wake of the fine-drawn shift. With practiced maneuverability Tarkin bent back upwards, his face neutral and his eyes trained on his liege. The Emperor’s inflection was not dramatic. His voice — a voice that many thought sinister but to Tarkin sounded merely strained — did not grate with anything besides age; no apparent anger had infiltrated his timbre and he spoke slowly. It was the mere absence of emotion that had eased uncomfortably into his mind, and Palpatine knew that he had noticed. Palpatine knew everything.

“I cannot fully express my disappointment that we have failed you, my lord,” Tarkin lamented, dipping his head.

“As I cannot fully express my disappointment in you, Governor,” Palpatine returned, equally as dry as before. There was a discernible edge to his words now though, and that could hardly be an omen of good. “I had had great faith in you,” he continued, his holographic image unmoving save for his lips and the skin that hung below them, “and I still do — to an extent. But this task eludes you, as does the Jedi.”

Ignavus was still as a statue beside Tarkin, hunched over in an eerie posture of submission. Despite his stillness, the mention of the Jedi seemed to stir a change in the air around the Sith, something that quickly became evident as Tarkin witnessed him covertly clench a fist.

There was no one in the galaxy privy to the relationship between the two; behind closed doors the nature of their partnership was obscured, a topic that was both taboo and strangely, yet undeniably captivating. The creature the Emperor had elected as the head of his forces seemed to have appeared from thin air, and there was no greater resentment towards him than from the officers who had already laid down their lives in the name of the Republic and then the Empire. Conversation about it was discouraged — words traveled swiftly and easily back to superiors, a group which Ignavus belonged to — and so the identity of the Supreme Commander, as well as his connection to Palpatine, remained a mystery.

What was not uncertain now was the obvious drift of Palpatine’s eyes to his apprentice, who seemed to realize that his master’s focus had shifted without having to see his face.

“We have precious little time to see our designs fulfilled,” the Emperor drawled. His voice echoed through the dark and hollow chamber, and Tarkin straightened as Ignavus raised his head heavily. “You have already had several opportunities to capture the Jedi, and your window grows shorter with each encounter. This game of chase has worn long enough on my patience.”

The apprentice was on the verge of bristling now, his breathing a fraction louder and audibly more hurried. Palpatine was not ignorant of this, but Ignavus continued to let his displeasure show as his master carried on.

“You are already aware of this, apprentice. This course of action has put us at odds with the will of the Force itself, we stand at a shatterpoint. If it is so impossible for you to find the Jedi—”

“He will come to us.”

The declaration reverberated off of the walls with a sharpness that pierced Tarkin’s ears, stinging with the echo of the sound. He felt himself internally wince at the interruption, involuntarily turning his eyes back to the Emperor from the black pristine tile floor. Palpatine did not react at first, seeming somewhat unbothered by the intrusion, though Tarkin could recognize the severity in his gaze and the telling twist of his brow.

“Elaborate,” was his only response. He did not draw out the word as he did before. Palpatine’s eyes bored into the faceless man before him, and Tarkin knew immediately that he could see through the mask, that he was staring into the very pit of Ignavus’s soul.

“Our interrogations of the rebel prisoners we captured here on Tatooine have finally yielded results,” the Sith answered, a hint of pride bleeding through his modulator. Palpatine’s eyes seemed to glow. “They were resolved to hide where their forces had fled after abandoning Dantooine, but with time, they became more compliant.” He stood now, stepping past Tarkin as if he did not exist, closer to the image of his master until he was directly beneath him, like a pious disciple on his knees. “Give me one last chance,” he hissed, “and I will burn Lehon to ash.”

* * *

Meditation rarely came to him easily on the best of days. Attempting so much on an old, cramped Separatist transport ship having had little sleep and still-healing injuries made it nigh impossible. He was reluctant to try in the first place, his reservations only magnified by his last talk with Dooku, the thought of whom still unnerved him.

Anakin didn’t quite know what it was that finally lured him to meditation. After setting a course for Tython he returned to the cabin while Ventress stayed in the cockpit to make sure they maintained their path. She soon left R2 in charge of that though, following him back out some time later and leaning her head against the wall to nap. Once more they were sitting together in silence, too devoid of energy to converse and lacking the mental stamina to sustain doing so for long.

With Ahsoka traveling with them now, they were even more wanting for space, and so in closer quarters than any of them would really care for. Padmé was across from Anakin, and though the lack of room forced them both to hike their knees up towards the ceiling, their outstretched feet still touched when he sat down, and she gave him a small smile in acknowledgement. He smiled back, wanting to thank her for remaining by him when he was struck by another bout, but in the presence of their comrades he refrained. He hoped his smile was enough.

Clovis spoke up suddenly then. “When is it that we’ll actually be able to regroup with the rest of the alliance?,” he queried, gathering the eyes from the rest of the cabin.

“Our task was to find Fulcrum and learn from them how to end this war,” Padmé answered definitively. “That’s what we’re doing.”

“Can we at least contact them?”

“It’s too much of a risk,” Draven replied, shaking his head. “Any and all lines of communication would be heavily monitored, and it’s likely that in the evacuation from Dantooine all existing lines between alliance contacts were rescrambled. We probably couldn’t send a message to them if we tried.”

The former senator looked defeated at that, hanging his head lamely before resting his chin on his fist, tracing the outline of his lower lip with a finger. “How much longer do we have?,” he asked after a moment.

“Nine and a half hours,” Ventress answered simply, sounding almost languid, her eyes still closed and her head still resting against the wall.

Clovis released a heavy sigh, crossing his arms. He was dressed in attire that was less than suited for the mission he was on, Anakin finally noticed, slightly amused, eyeing the silk that adorned Clovis’s cuffs and the intricate and finely woven patterns that embellished the now torn sleeves of his formal overshirt. He looked more ragged than the night their mutual distrust and ire had finally come to a head, but at the thought Anakin quickly buried it, shame pricking hotly at his neck.

Perhaps it was those turbulent memories that at last drew him into the realm of mediation, his only form of escape. He pulled his feet towards him, away from Padmé’s, and her gaze followed him as he shifted, dragging his legs under himself and positioning his open palms on his knees. He could feel Ahsoka watching him as well, her keen interest present in the empty air.

It wasn’t long before it began to fade away, however. Anakin replayed Dooku’s words over in his head, slowly, carefully falling into himself and the currents on which his presence flowed in the Living Force. Silence returned to him, and as he sank deeper he began to feel at peace. Never before had he truly been able to appreciate the quiet in its absolute stillness and tranquility, and having long been amongst the cloud of exhaustion and anxiety that hovered over his companions, it was an immense relief.

He let himself continue to be carried down, forgetting his hesitancy and his reason as the quiet cradled him, and the life energy of the universe passed through him like a soft breeze, warm and familiar. The warmth gradually swelled, as if tepid golden ambrosia was being poured into his veins, sending him into a kind of high. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest with each breath he also felt fade, the sensation becoming just as lost as the continuous noise around him.

It was euphoric, welcoming, and his mind melted into the moment, instinct taking over. It coaxed him down further still, and his blood simmered as his temperature continued to rise. He embraced the sea that had swallowed him, its waters guarding him from the tumultuous waves on the surface, embracing him back. It was almost as if it was Shmi herself cradling him, holding his small form close to her as she sheltered him from the cold of Tatooine’s night. It felt deeper than that though, in a way he couldn’t quite fathom, like he was a part of her. Anakin leaned into the feeling, daring to let it take him completely, forgetting himself and all of his caution and reluctance, reaching for the light. That was his mistake.

Thousands of stars burst behind his eyes, the white-hot sting and searing of the glow blazing in his bones with an unmatched fervor, melting and reforming them over and over again like metal being forged in a blacksmith’s fire. His mouth was drawn open in a silent scream, unable to produce sound as his body and mind were overtaken, his spine spiking up with the wrath of the pain that wracked him. Burning black oil spilled from it instead, leaking from his eyes and ears too, the taste of smoke draping over his tongue. He could feel his skin shedding angrily, hidden arms bursting out from every new layer and desperately grabbing for his surroundings, threatening to rip the steel plates off the walls and crush them to pieces. When his body itself splintered apart, Anakin thought he was dying. He wailed then, in fear, in horror, in relief that his cage was shattering, that he could break free. A storm of feathered wings, dark and flushed with blood, beat fervently as they burst from his back, molting before they redecorated themselves with new quills of endless colors, as bright as the light that had blinded him.

Anakin clutched himself tight, his awareness and senses overpowered and lost in the agony, only cognizant of his pain. _Please,_ his mind whimpered, _please, make it stop._ His muscles continued to rip themselves apart, and he heaved, only spitting up more ash and smoke. _Please,_ he tried again, hot tears running down his fracturing face. _I’m going to die._ His body, nor the Force, seemed to hear him, and he cried out again as the halo behind his head scorched his neck and new rows of spines broke out along it. He cut his tongue on the pointed teeth that now jutted up from his jaw and his stomach lurched in response, opening up to pour his organs onto the freezing steel floor beneath him. His vision distorted by the hundreds of emerging eyes that grew between his feathers, all Anakin could do was close them, crying with a shuddering breath. The torture and his unanswered pleas for help drew forth a primeval anger, as hot as the fire in his veins, and Anakin screamed, shrieking with pain and fury and terror at what he was.

Almost at once his throat gave out, his wings retreating back into him along with his eyes, limbs, and teeth, all of his unholy bodies withdrawing from sight. He was scarcely aware of anything as he felt himself collapse against the floor, its coolness like ice to him now. He didn’t care though, he was barely conscious of it, and the world around him danced like a vision. His lungs expanded with great effort, endeavoring to supply his frantic heart with the air it craved. A sting of pain still hung in the air, and Anakin absently recognized that it did not emanate from him.

“—kin? _Anakin!”_

Was someone speaking? He didn’t know, his senses still exhausted and dulled. The voice called again, but he was too faint to respond or identify its owner.

“Anakin!,” the voice repeated, more insistent. Hands turned him over from his side onto his back and he coughed, a headache quickly blooming. He could hear other murmurings in the background now, but the words remained undeciphered. He blinked.

“Anakin, can you hear me? Please, show me if you can.” A palm fell on his forehead, moving down to frame one of his cheeks. “Anakin?” Padmé’s concerned face came into view now, her eyes tracing the tears that still stained his cheeks.

He willed himself to say something, but he didn't have the strength, and so ended up in another coughing fit instead. Padmé breathed a sigh of relief, seemingly attempting a smile, but it didn't stick. “I thought we lost you for a moment,” she whispered. Anakin just blinked at her, doing his best to contort the muscles in his face into the closest expression to apologetic. She brushed some hair from his eyes before taking a moment to glance back behind her. He followed her example, finding an alarming sight. Ventress was nearly doubled-over, a hand pressing against her temple, with Draven leaning a concerned hand on her shoulder. Blood was leaking from one of her ears, as well as her left nostril, pouring down over her lips. Anakin’s heart dropped into his stomach as his gaze drifted over to Ahsoka, who was still clutching her head in pain. The implication of what had happened hit him like a train.

_I did this._

He felt his pulse hitch as he tried to pull himself up, but he stumbled and Padmé eased him back down. The image of Ventress’s blood pooling in a crimson puddle on the floor paralyzed him, and dazed, he let Padmé sit him up against the wall behind him for support. “Don’t move,” she told him, settling him into a more comfortable position. Anakin felt nauseous. “You suffered another seizure,” she informed him. 

“That was no seizure.”

Ventress was rasping, the blood wiped clean from her ear, though still staining her lip. She was looking over Ahsoka, who had since removed her hands from her head, but something lingered in her eyes, and she kept her gaze on the ground. Ventress’s brow was drawn down severely, her presence in the Force echoing her mood around Dooku. She finally looked up at Anakin, who was still in a state of shock. Her eyes scrutinized him, and he felt himself internally shrink. He dreaded what her next words might be.

“What did I just see?”

She asked it slowly, cautiously, unblinking as she analyzed him. Padmé looked between the two of them, lost. “What do you mean?,” she pressed. “What happened?” She moved to raise her hand to Anakin’s forehead again, but Ventress snapped at her.

“Don’t touch him,” she warned.

“He needs our help,” Padmé argued.

“No, no he doesn’t.” She swallowed another ragged breath. “Keep your distance.”

Padmé ignored her, attempting a second time to feel for Anakin’s temperature when Clovis cut in. “Padmé,” he pleaded.

The former queen was about to follow through regardless, disregarding them both, when Ahsoka spoke up.

“I saw it too,” she whispered. Her voice was a far cry from the confidence and vigor she had possessed before, and it shook slightly, her eyes still glued to her feet.

Ventress looked from Ahsoka back to Padmé, a knowing stare piercing the senator’s own gaze. Draven turned to Ventress and then to Anakin, whose eyes were glazed, glassy with an exhaustion and disquiet that he recognized in the faces of many of his fellow soldiers. The Jedi was still breathing heavily, his mouth hanging open and sweat dripping down his skin.

Padmé hesitated. “What did you see?”

Ventress turned her glare on Anakin. “You tell me.”

He swallowed, a difficult task in the moment, and struggled to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I didn’t know . . .” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Dooku showed me what I had to do to center myself if I . . . It happened before,” he inhaled again, his throat worn, “on Seoul. He said I have to go to Tython to control it. To learn how to face Sidious.”

Ventress studied him intently, her face refusing to betray her thoughts, observing him silently as he glanced at Ahsoka. Anakin looked back to her. “I never meant to hurt you,” he rasped. “I never meant . . .” He trailed off, his energy spent, but it didn’t need saying.

The Nightsister’s expression was unchanged. “I know,” she said at last. “But you didn’t answer me.” Anakin held his breath. Ventress’s voice crackled quietly, almost gently, but fear resonated in her words, and they both knew it was there. “What did I see?”

Ahsoka was looking at him now too, and in his hesitation, Anakin locked eyes with Padmé. She had seen him at his very worst, and the very best he had to give, despite all of his faults. She loved him regardless, and though he knew that this woman and his wife were not truly one and the same, he knew that her compassion ran just as deep.

“Me,” he answered, whispering as his voice broke. “You saw me.”

Padmé stared at him. “What do you mean?” The question was for he and Ventress both, whichever of them would clarify to the rest of them what was going on. She reached out again — this time Ventress was silent — and she brushed more hair that had fallen over his eyes out of the way.

Anakin tilted his head. “I . . . don’t look like — what you think I look like.” He heard Ventress sigh in the background.

Padmé blinked, smiling a little, painfully sympathetic. Anakin’s heart broke. “You’re beautiful,” she said simply, as if it were the plainest thing in the world.

Clovis immediately blanched at that, but Anakin just blinked back. “No,” he shook his head weakly. “I mean . . . I think I’m a monster.” He said it as if he was asking a question, as if he couldn’t bear to state it outright. Because he couldn’t. _Now the outside matches,_ he thought sardonically.

Padmé’s smile was replaced by a frown, and she looked him up and down. She was about to question him further when she was cut off.

“You look like everything Dooku said you would.” Ahsoka was staring into the middle distance, recalling a scene that had since passed. “I thought he was dramatizing before — but now I realize he wasn’t. When you arrived, I looked at you and thought everything Dooku told me was some kind of . . . joke. And then you told me you were my teacher.” She breathed in, and turned to his gaze again. “You’re not a monster,” she murmured. “You’re just what the Force made you to be. Dooku told me I shouldn’t be afraid. And I’m not. I just never imagined . . .”

She left them in silence, her words dying out as her head dropped back to the floor. Ventress wiped at the dried blood below her nose, and Draven looked at her, perplexed. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head tiredly, “I think I’m lost.”

“Trust me,” Ventress croaked, “the less you have to worry about, the better.”

At that Padmé’s gaze wandered back to Anakin’s. She tentatively pushed a palm against his forehead once more. Some heat still lingered above his brow, and Padmé made a face of concern. Anakin couldn’t help but lean into the touch, and to his surprise, Padmé accepted him. He felt unworthy of her sympathy, ugly as he was, inside and out, but nevertheless she held him. He exhaled, exhausted, and looked into her eyes.

“Are you going to be alright?,” she asked quietly.

Anakin noticed Clovis’s frown behind her, but he ignored him, taking in a breath to respond.

“I—”

A horrible shudder wracked the ship then, R2’s warning beeps sounding from the cockpit. The overhead light turned from white to red, the blaring of an alarm ringing in each of their ears.

Draven jumped to his feet, rushing to the cockpit, Ventress behind him in seconds. Anakin tried to follow, but Padmé kept him from getting up, pushing her hands down gently on his shoulders. “Stay here,” she commanded, running to join the two of them.

“What’s going on?,” Ahsoka yelled, suddenly much more alert.

“We have a lot less fuel that we thought we did!,” Ventress shouted, she and Draven gripping the shuttle’s steering with white knuckles, holding tight to keep their flight path as steady as the shuttle would allow. “We’re going to have to drop out of hyperspace!”

“What?!,” Padmé and Clovis cried in unison.

Anakin internally shared the sentiment. Flinging themselves out of the hyperlane at point-blank was probably the fastest way to get them all killed. If the maneuver didn’t tear the ship apart, inadvertently shooting themselves into a star or planet certainly would.

“It’s our only choice!,” Draven called back. “We’ll be dead in space either way, we have to drop out!” He started pressing buttons like mad. “I’m shutting off the power!”

Padmé grasped the pilots’ chairs for dear life as the ship creaked violently again. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Ventress gritted her teeth, shooting a hard glance at the senator. “Hold on.”

With another vicious groan and a roar of the shuttle’s engines, the sheathipede lurched forward in a burst of speed as the vessel hurtled from hyperspace, slingshotting itself into the atmospheric grip of the lush planet that appeared before them. They relaunched the power immediately, and the ship console began beeping incessantly, warning of the empty fuel reserves and the incoming celestial body that was soon to become their crash site.

“We’re going down!,” Draven announced, clenching his jaw as he tried to maintain the shuttle’s velocity.

Padmé’s eyes widened. “That’s Naboo!”

Ventress resisted the urge to smash her head against the console. “You’re kidding me.”

It was ironic to say the least, but Anakin didn’t find much about the situation amusing as another sway of the ship nearly prompted him to vomit. The Force certainly had an interesting sense of humor.

“What makes Naboo a worse place to crash than any other planet?,” Ahsoka shouted.

Ventress kept her eyes trained ahead of her, glaring. “It’s the Emperor’s homeworld,” she seethed, her face drawn in an unpleasant scowl.

Clovis clung to one of the panels on the cabin wall for dear life. “Did Dooku deceive us?!,” he queried.

Ahsoka scrunched her nose at him, taking the insult to her master upon herself, but Anakin spoke before she could, hauling himself to his feet. “No,” he shook his head, wavering as he felt the blood rush to his brain. “This isn’t anyone’s doing,” he coughed, “but our own.”

“Well I hope we can get ourselves out of it!,” Draven called from the cockpit.

The shuttle caught fire as they descended into the atmosphere, trailing a plume of smoke as they plunged from space.

“We’re going to be landing in the wetlands,” Draven reported, pulling up the planetary scan. “We may not have to worry about being detected given the region.”

“We might have other things to be concerned with though,” Ventress replied roughly, her fingers raw around the steering.

Padmé braced herself for impact as the shuttle skimmed over the approaching forest, their speed increasing dangerously. The sharp crack of the ship breaking through the canopy rang through the walls, and immediately they were charging through the trunks of the mighty cambylictus trees of the Naboo swamps. The nose of the ship was twisted and cratered by the numerous collisions, each one throwing its passengers against the hard steel off their surroundings, threatening to toss each of them from one wall to the next.

Anakin fell forward, his fingers using up the last of their faded strength clinging to a protruding pipeline on the ceiling. He nearly crashed against the divider between the cockpit and cabin when Ahsoka jumped forward to grab his limp body with the Force, keeping him upright. He was surprised by her intervention, but she said nothing, dedicating her focus to preventing them both from suffering any number of events that could quickly render them both dead. She pushed him to the doorframe, which he could grasp to keep himself steady, and a quick nod from her reassured him in the chaos.

The shuttle dove into the wet and unsteady earth of the swamp, still surging forward through the vegetation with the momentum of their fall. They continued to push through the bog until the ship met the trunk of a particularly large tree, halting their charge. The vessel then fell into the muck with a heavy and sudden _thud,_ squelching as it landed.

They each remained where they were, taking a minute to breathe and collect themselves in the silence. Ventress was the first to disturb the quiet, letting out a weary huff, finally relinquishing the steering. “We’re alive,” she stated absently, as if she was reminding herself of the fact. She heaved again. “What now?”

Padmé observed their surroundings through the cockpit window. “I’m not sure exactly where we are,” she began slowly, “but I think it’s safe to say that we’re a good distance from Theed. Or any other form of civilization for that matter.” A thought suddenly came to her. “There may be Gungans out here, though.”

“Is that supposed to be good news?,” Ventress muttered.

“If there are any Gungan settlements here, they may be able to help us,” Padmé advised.

Draven sunk back in his chair. “They’re not friends of Palpatine?,” he asked.

“Not since he became Emperor,” she answered. “They’re no longer considered citizens of Naboo, and much of their land has been annexed by the government, which ousted all Gungan representatives years ago.”

Just then, the ship took a sudden dip further into the sludge, groaning as it steadily began to sink.

“We need to get out of here,” Ventress asserted, standing up and brandishing Quinlan’s lightsaber. “Follow me.”

After cutting a hole through the shuttle’s stern, Ventress piled out after the rest of them into the waters of the swamp as the sheathipede sunk further into the brackish, muddy pool. Draven supported part of Anakin’s weight on one of his shoulders as they marched, trudging through the thick grime that stuck to their feet and coated their boots. R2 struggled with the terrain, beeping indignantly as grot seeped into his motors. 

“So what’s our plan for getting off this rock?,” Ventress demanded as they trekked. “Whatever spaceports are open will be crawling with security and won’t be less than heavily monitored. Same goes for any major hubs in the cities. They’d recognize our faces before we could even get to a ship.”

“I have some friends who may be able to smuggle us offworld,” Padmé responded. She glanced back at Anakin as his foot slipped in the mud, Draven heaving him back up. “If we can just get into Theed then we can get off the planet,” she resolved.

“But we don’t even know where Theed is,” Ahsoka spoke up. “Let alone how long it’ll take us to get there.”

Padmé pointed ahead of her. “I recognize these trees,” she began. “They’re called perlotes, and they only grow in the eastern swamps in a particular region on the planet. That means we’re not more than a few days’ travel on foot from Theed if we keep heading west.”

“That puts our trip to Tython on hold for a while,” Draven commented. His eyes flickered to Anakin. “We may not have that time.”

Padmé shook her head. “Between here and Theed is the Lake Country,” she explained. “It’s a secluded stretch of land between the mountains; it’s mostly water. My family has an estate there, and we may be able to find some form of transport to get us to the capital faster.”

Ventress looked skeptical. “How do we know that we won’t be recognized or encounter any other trouble?”

“Now that I’m a fugitive, Palpatine has probably had my family placed under arrest,” she began. Anakin knew she was only reciting the best-case scenario, but if Padmé was conflicted, she didn't show it. “He wouldn’t let them out of his sight, so they’re more than likely in Theed. The lake house would be empty, as would the property around it.”

Ventress still appeared unconvinced, but when she locked eyes with Anakin, who nodded at her, she seemed to accept their new course. “Alright,” she conceded. “Lead the way.”

They hiked through the swamp for as long as daylight allowed them, finally reaching a patch of grass and earth dry enough to make camp. There was no dry wood with which to start a fire however, so they were forced to keep themselves warm with the clothes on their backs. Luckily, Naboo’s nights were not as bitter Tatooine’s, and there was no wind. They were lucky it did not rain.

Sometime after they had settled themselves in a loose semi-circle to rest for the night, a low humming sound began to rise in the air, Ahsoka alerting the rest of them to it. Rapidly, the sound grew louder, and without warning a recon ship raced over their heads, just barely missing the tops of the trees. Leaves were stirred in a storm in the canopy, and as quickly as the ship had come it had passed. The vegetation overhead was the only reason they had not been spotted, and each of them released a collective sigh of shock and relief, startled by the near discovery.

“They’re looking for us,” Draven observed quietly.

His words sank in slowly, none of them wanting to pay mind to it. They were barely so lucky as to avoid the eye of the Imperials a second time, and it seemed that their situation was becoming not a matter of _if_ they would be caught, but _when._

“The swamp will hide our tracks,” Padmé assured them, her voice clear and ringing surely. Whether that was her belief or her reassurance as a leader was unsure, but they accepted it for now, still staring warily at the sky. The next few hours passed in silence, sleep eventually claiming them one by one.

“May I ask you something?”

Anakin and Padmé were the only two who remained awake, their nerves declining their bodies’ need to rest. They were on opposite sides of their camp, their companions between them, but both kept their gazes on the stars above.

Anakin swallowed, hesitant of where her next words might lead them. “Go ahead.”

Padmé’s head turned to him in the dark. “What happened on the ship? Are you really alright?”

He didn’t move, feeling her eyes on him, and concerned as they were, he felt cornered. Not because of her, but because of himself. His body still burned with the embers of what had been unleashed, smoldering steadily without end. He wished they would, that he could forget everything that had transpired. To have Padmé bear that image, that turmoil . . . was too much. The way Ventress had looked at him after, it terrified him, almost more than the agony itself, and he feared not only pushing Padmé away, but tainting her with what he was. Hurting her. That would be worse.

He loved her with more heartache and veneration and sorrow than the galaxy could fathom, to a fault. It was almost like fear in the way it filled him, rising in his chest and numbing him all over. But unlike fear, it inspired no malice in his heart, instead only softening it further, opening itself to a vulnerability that the Jedi could never understand, would never allow.

Anakin had of course known contentment before, in ephemeral seizures of time in which a taste of tranquility or joy could be salvaged, but they were always solitary occasions, never lingering for longer than a moment. It was merely the absence of the rest of the galaxy for the briefest snatch of time, the short disappearance of hunger, sickness, exhaustion, doubt, all that which gave him pause and encouraged him to stray. But with Padmé, bliss was never fleeting, a bird that would die in his calloused hands before it could fly away. She accepted his ineloquence and bashfulness and all the things about himself that he tried to ignore. When his words ran away from him she laughed, and when she spoke of her ambitions and ideals it filled him with such admiration he thought he might explode. She astounded him with her mind and her wit, and he felt shallow in her presence, like the same boy he was all those years ago when they had first met as children. When he was with her, he could no longer fathom the depths of his own grief, forgetting them almost entirely. Life was an idyll. Happiness was no longer something that had to be taken, a commodity that was always just out of reach. It was almost decadent in how well he came to know it, and he mourned its loss when they were apart.

Padmé could endure the ugliness of the galaxy, in many ways better than him. But if he could, he would spare her from himself, for both their sakes.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his throat raw. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I understand,” she murmured back. “We’ll be safe in the Lake Country,” she added after a few moments. “We’ll be able to get you some proper medical treatment as well.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him very well. “How are you planning to get offworld?”

“My handmaidens from my . . . tenure as queen,” she replied. “They’ve remained trusted friends of mine since. I know for certain that they will be able to help us.”

They lapsed back into silence after that, observing the stars through the overhanging branches above. Padmé’s voice nearly startled Anakin when she spoke again.

“Can you see Tatooine?,” she asked.

His eyes grazed over the sky for a few seconds, searching. “Yes,” he responded after a moment. It was twinkling faintly in the south, seemingly quaint and quiet in the far distance. He thought of Shmi, wishing she was beside him, hoping desperately that she was not where he feared her to be.

“We’re not far from it,” Padmé remarked, reminding Anakin of her presence. Her tone carried some hint of that fact seeming almost remarkable, that they were lightyears away and yet compared to the endless vastness of the galaxy, they were right next to one another. Perhaps, gazing from far away enough, Tatooine and Naboo looked like a single body.

He exhaled, warm air filtering in his lungs and then back out in his breath. His chest still felt tight, aching as he breathed, and he tried to push the discomfort to the back of his mind. Pins and needles tingled in his flesh hand, his fingers spread into the dirt beneath him.

“Do you really believe your family is safe?,” he dared. He heard Padmé sigh.

“I don’t want to think they’re not,” she answered. “But regardless of where they are, they won’t truly be until Palpatine is dead.” The sound of the grass crunching beneath her as she shifted crackled in his ears. Her voice lowered to that of a whisper. “I put him in power, you know.”

It was like a confession, a secret that ate at her now out in the open. Anakin knew the burden was not lessened by its reveal.

“It’s not your fault,” was his response, low and understanding. “You couldn’t have known. Nobody did.” He blinked at the stars, an almost dirty feeling seeping into his skin. “I didn’t either.”

Padmé’s eyes fell on him again, questioning. She was silent.

“He was someone I thought I could trust too,” Anakin admitted. It was such a casual way of putting it. It was the only way he could distance himself from the extent of his abuse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. I was the one that couldn’t see.”

“That doesn’t make you responsible.”

“Or you.”

She stared at him now, over the sleeping forms of their companions, her weight resting on her forearms. It was obvious that he knew of her reign’s history. Anakin sat up a bit too, and when he did she looked up once more.

“What else can you see?,” she inquired, her eyes reflecting the lights above.

He followed her gaze. “Manaan is directly above us,” he began, his fractured thoughts dissipating slightly, “and if you look directly right you can find Russan.”

“Have you been to either?,” she queried, her head tilting to the side.

Anakin smiled softly. “Not yet, at least. When I was a kid I wanted to see them all.”

Padmé’s lips sloped upward. “Why was that?”

“I don't know,” he answered. “I just wanted to get away from Tatooine.”

Padmé absorbed his words thoughtfully. “When the war is over you should come back to Naboo,” she appealed. “I know it might not seem like it here, but it really is beautiful. I may be biased, but if you ever get the chance . . .” She trailed off.

“I will,” he promised, turning to her. She smiled back at him, faint in the dark, but he could make it out all the same. “It’ll be the first thing I do.”

* * *

They moved out before dawn so as not to squander time. Anakin could walk on his own now, heavy though his limbs remained, and to his surprise and slight curiosity, Ahsoka shadowed him. She had taken a noticeable interest in him before, given what he had told her of their relationship, and she trailed alongside him in the much same manner as she had when she was fourteen; a little unsure, but still intrigued and quietly enthused. It was hard for him to believe he was her age when he had taken her on.

Guilt still nagged him from what had occurred on the shuttle before they crashed, and Ahsoka seemed to sense his unease. When she shot him a questioning glance he nearly stiffened, and she looked away in turn, as if afraid of disturbing him. After a while of this Anakin found he couldn’t take much more.

“Ahsoka,” he murmured loud enough for only her to hear.

Her chin tilted up at him, allowing their eyes to meet. “Yes?” Anakin couldn’t believe how adult she sounded.

“I thought I should apologize again. For what happened.” He shook his head. “I never—”

“It’s alright,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. Her voice betrayed no anxiety, though. It was merely reassurance, as if what had happened had been no more serious than a harmless misstep. Anakin didn’t see it that way.

“No, it’s not,” he pressed.

To his confusion, Ahsoka smiled at that, knowing and deliberate. It almost reminded him of Obi-Wan. “It wasn’t your fault,” she replied, her tone entreating him to listen. “Dooku told me about you the night after he took you alone with him. The day before we left. He’s been telling me about you for _years,_ what you would be like.” Anakin blinked at her, silent, and so she continued. “I know that it scares you, but it doesn’t scare me.” She said it with so much certainty that it nearly took him aback. Ahsoka’s smile turned to a grin then. “And if it’s any consolation, you’re a lot better than Dooku said you’d be.”

He looked at her dumbly, words lost to him, then he smiled back, disbelievingly. His eyes fell to the ground and then back to her, still digesting what she’d said. “Really?,” he finally asked.

Ahsoka looked amused, nodding her head.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he joked, which elicited a good-natured eye roll from her. Her gaze skirted around his face then for a moment, at last settling back on him with a new focus.

“Actually,” she began, “I wanted to ask you some more questions.”

Anakin smiled at her, and dipped his head. “Fire away,” he said.

They launched into an easy back-and-forth after that, discussing Anakin’s own apprenticeship, the war, the Jedi, and finally Ahsoka herself.

“I met Master Kenobi a couple of times on a few missions with Master Plo,” Ahsoka was saying. “I was kind of nervous the first couple of assignments we were paired with him on. He was practically the first Jedi to face a Sith in a thousand years since his master didn’t survive the encounter.” Anakin wondered about the circumstances of the confrontation Mon Mothma had told him about compared to the duel in the desert that he had only barely escaped himself. Quinlan and Aayla had been there too, he remembered, but Qui-Gon still died anyway. He sighed, tucking his grief away. “It’s strange to think of him as my grandmaster,” Ahsoka continued, pulling him from his thoughts. She hesitated then, considering what Anakin might say to her in response. “Did he like me?” She almost sounded like a child asking so, and Anakin immediately softened.

“Did he like you?,” he echoed. His heart squeezed at Ahsoka’s unsure face, reminding him of himself when he had first begun his training. “Ahsoka, he was so proud of you,” he beamed. “You were a better padawan than I ever was. The best anyone could hope for.”

At that he felt her elation in the Force bubble forth, her smile betraying her. She laughed, not having expected the answer she was given, and looked up at him with shining eyes. “Master Obi-Wan was proud of _me?”_

Anakin felt himself warmed by her childlike zeal and he laughed too. “Undoubtedly,” he said. A mischievousness crept into his grin then. “Although you certainly gave him your fair share of trouble too.”

She raised her eyebrows, a familiar expression of teasing exasperation coming forward, and she simply shook her head, as if this was customary.

They carried on like that for a while longer, silently glancing at one another with masks of mirth anytime Clovis complained of the mud seeping into his boots, talking of the clones that they had served with during the war, and reminiscing of the time before Jedi were not so few. Anakin had hardly realized how much time had passed until they reached the edge of the riverbank that streamed into the massive lakes surrounding the country.

They crowded at the edge of the water, staring out at its shimmering surface, the encircling mountains curling gently around the pools.

“Here we are,” Padmé announced, quiet as she absorbed the view. Varykino wasn’t visible from where they stood; it was tucked into the side of one of the islands closer to the middle of the lake, behind one of the towering hills that stood between them and the rest of the water.

“How exactly were we planning to get across?,” Ventress drawled, crossing her arms. She glared at the lake with a clear look of disdain, apparently unimpressed.

Padmé turned her head, looking across the bank. “Usually there are boats that are left on the banks,” she explained. “I suppose we’ll just have to walk past the lake mouth to see if there’s any transportation on the other side of the mountains here.”

They moved to follow her course of action when Draven suddenly stopped, his eyes fixated on something across the water. “Wait a minute,” he squinted, pointing ahead of him. “What’s that?”

Anakin frowned, the sun glinting in his eyes as he tried to pinpoint the object of Draven’s unease. His gaze focusing as the light died down, he recognized the sleek shape of a speeder, and the unblemished white armor of its rider. As it got closer, it was apparent that a whole fleet was headed towards them.

“We’ve got company,” the general warned, turning to Ventress and Padmé.

The senator looked keenly between the water and her companions. “We need to lead them back into the trees,” she dictated. “We’re vulnerable out here in the open, if we can lead them into close quarters we’ll have a small advantage despite the numbers.”

Draven nodded briskly. “Understood, Senator.” He glanced at the incoming force, swallowing. “We haven’t got much time,” he declared. “Let’s move.”

They turned backwards, hurrying into the cover of the swamp vegetation. Ahsoka raced at Anakin’s hip, following his lead. “Am I about to get a taste of that famous combat prowess honed by war that you bragged about?,” she baited.

Anakin couldn’t help but huff, amused despite the danger. Ahsoka had a way of quelling his fears. “Just watch and learn, padawan,” he replied. She grinned.

It wasn’t long before the soldiers caught up to their position, but by then Draven had already shepherded them into the undergrowth, hiding. The speeders whirred to a halt as the troopers jumped off their bikes, blasters pointed in a surveying scan of the area. There were about fifteen of them. It became unnervingly quiet as the seconds passed, anticipation building for the signal to strike. One trooper hustled forward, something having caught his eye in the dirt, and he bent down to trace the outline of a footprint in the moist earth with a gloved finger.

“Commander—,” he began, about to haul himself up when a rustle in the leaves startled his ear. He stopped, as did the other soldiers, looking into the tangle of trees and bush through the black lenses of his helmet, searching for the source of the sound. When the silence settled again, he moved to stand, casually lifting himself, forgetting the footprint carelessly. He spun on his heel to turn his back on the dense brush behind him, and in the moment he did, Anakin leapt up behind the man, lightsaber ignited and his cloak flowing behind him, like black, unfurling wings of a deadly bird of prey. Time seemed to slow then, the other troopers rushing to aim their blasters while the Jedi descended on their companion, his gleaming sword already swinging for his neck. In a split-second, he landed, severing the man’s head from his body, upon which a storm of laser bolts were unloaded against him.

With all the dangerous grace and precision of a warrior polished by battle, Anakin deflected the wave of blaster fire back at his enemies, slipping between the bolts to charge the soldiers and deftly slice through the shining and unspoiled armor that coated their bodies. They fell one after the other, and as he spun and vaulted over them, out of the corner of his eye he saw Ventress and Draven advance on them from behind, trapping the men in the circle of trees. Ahsoka moved in a deadly twist near him, her back to Padmé’s, using the Force to pull the men into one another’s line of fire and letting them drop at her feet. Within seconds the entire company was dead.

Anakin sheathed his saber, numbly surprised at how easily he fell into the trance of conflict, of bloodshed. He stared at the body of the man he had beheaded. When he had killed the Tuskens, he had thought of them like animals. Now, he didn't think at all.

“That was easy,” Ventress commented dryly, hanging her lightsaber hilt back on her belt. Anakin blinked, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Draven looked at Padmé. “Do you think more will be coming?”

She frowned. “It’s strange that they would be here in the first place. If they were from the ship we saw last night they would have had to come from the other direction. In any case, we don’t really have a choice. Theed is our only option. We have to keep moving the same way.”

“We can use the speeders to cross the lake,” Ahsoka suggested, heaving the corpse of one of the troopers off of one of the seats.

Anakin absently nodded, taking a step towards one of the bikes after his comrades, when Padmé called out to him from behind. He turned to see her gently retrieving something from the ground, the object cradled in her hands. “I think this belongs to you,” she offered, walking over to him.

When he looked down he found the japor snippet Shmi had given him sitting in her palms, its jerba cord torn in the middle. It must have fallen during the fight, wrenched from his belt in the chaos.

“Oh,” he said intelligently. “Thank you.”

She deposited it in his hands, nodded to him and headed to mount a speeder bike, R2 trailing after her. Anakin watched her go, then lightly pulled the broken cord up to his chest, fashioning the leather around his neck and tying a knot between the ends. The japor fell softly over his sternum when he withdrew his hands, and his fingers flew up to trace the designs on its face. He breathed a sigh of relief that he had not been separated from it, joining the others, climbing onto a speeder of his own and following them across the water.

It took them less than a half hour to reach the lakehouse, by which time the sun had already plunged a fair distance below the ridges of the mountains. The water reflected the warm, orange glow the sky had taken on, and it splashed up in bursts of light as they raced over the surface. As Varykino became closer in the distance, Anakin wasn’t sure if he saw the flicker of lights in the house’s windows, or the mere reflection of the luminescence from the lake, and he narrowed his eyes warily as they approached.

Rounding on the dock beside the villa, they ascended up the stairs from the waterfront, Padmé leading them up to the garden beside the eastern courtyard, explaining that they could stay for the night, take whatever supplies they might need, and then head out the next morning. “We’ll have to be careful, though,” she told them, marching hurriedly up the steps. “If there was a patrol, that means there’s some Imperial presence in this region, and we can’t leave any hints that we were here.”

She guided them through the lower gardens that embellished the perimeter of the estate, her pace not slowing for the beauty of her surroundings. “Once we make it to Theed we’ll need to be cautious about getting access inside the city,” she added. They skirted around a corner, reaching the open plaza that overlooked the lake. “We’ll likely have to s—” She stopped, suddenly, as if caught off guard, her breath stuck in her throat. Anakin followed her line of sight to find a woman standing on the other side of the courtyard, her back turned to them, leaning over the balcony above the lakeside. The woman shifted, hearing the noise, and slowly turned to face them, her expression becoming one of shock the moment she caught Padmé’s eyes. Jobal.

The two of them stared at each other for a number of seconds, the air tense and unsure. Anakin heard himself let out a breath in sharp surprise, and as he did, Padmé, without warning, jumped forward to race towards her mother. Jobal did the same, practically crashing into her daughter and crushing her within her arms.

“Padmé, Padmé, Padmé,” he heard Jobal cry, her face slicked with tears as she cupped her daughter’s face. The older woman intimately brushed her thumbs over her cheeks. _“How?,”_ she whispered, her voice breaking.

Padmé laughed thickly, her own eyes wet. “I have so much to tell you,” she said. “I didn't even know you were here,” she laughed again, disbelief apparent in her words.

Jobal hugged her again, and her gaze quickly drifted to her companions behind her, still standing at the corner of the courtyard. “And,” she paused, “who are they?”

Padmé glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Friends,” she answered. Jobal had obviously recognized Clovis in the crowd, and she looked somewhat unsure, but her sights caught the glimmer of the lightsaber hilts on Ahsoka, Anakin, and Ventress’s hips, and her eyes widened.

“You brought Jedi,” she murmured.

Padmé nodded assuredly. “Yes,” she confirmed, “we’re on an incredibly important mission for the rebellion, and we need shelter for the night but—” She cut herself off again, shock once more filling her system. Ruwee and Sola had appeared, obviously having heard the noise outside. They both stared, open-mouthed, equally as astonished by the sight before them.

Anakin watched the four of them embrace, his chest aching as they so easily slipped into one another’s arms. He heard the chorus of questions that flooded Padmé’s ears, as well as felt the blossom of joy that burst in the space between them. He smiled.

After a moment Padmé waved them over, and the rest of them gathered to meet the other Naberries. Ruwee had stepped forward eagerly, reaching out to shake each of their hands. He left Clovis with a curt nod. They were already acquainted.

“We haven’t heard anything since Bail Organa’s arrest,” Ruwee explained, looking between his wife and his youngest daughter. “About a week after that was when we were moved here from the city under orders of house arrest. We heard whispers of sedition, that you were branded a traitor and had gone on the run, but we were never told what happened.”

Padmé frowned. “What about Ryoo and Pooja? And Darred? Are they here as well?”

Sola shook her head, her eyes falling to her feet. “They’re being kept in Theed. We have no contact with them.”

Padmé ruminated on that for a moment, considering what her father had told her. “So the men we encountered must have been your guards,” she guessed.

Jobal nodded. “When I saw the speeders returning I just assumed that they had come back from patrol,” she said.

“They left you here alone?”

Ruwee scoffed. “We have no transportation to leave, we couldn’t possibly swim the length of the lake. They knew we couldn’t escape if we tried.”

“They received word of a shuttle crash nearby and were sent to investigate the surrounding area,” Jobal expounded. “It was lucky they weren’t here when you arrived.”

Padmé smiled. “We were simply fortunate to have Jedi with us,” she replied, dipping her head towards Anakin, Ahsoka and Ventress. “If it weren’t for them we would have had a much more difficult fight on our hands.”

Jobal looked alarmed. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No,” Padmé affirmed. “Our only concern now is getting to Theed.”

If Jobal wasn’t distressed before, she certainly was now. “Theed?,” she repeated, the horror on her face mirrored by Sola and Ruwee. “No, Padmé, _no._ If you go to Theed, they’ll kill you.” She put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Do you know how much of a risk you’re taking being on Naboo already?”

Padmé gently removed herself from her mother’s grasp, but didn’t look away. “I know,” she said, steadfast. “But it’s not my life I worry about. We don’t have a choice. If we don’t go, we’re going to lose this war.” Jobal looked hurt, but she didn’t argue. Padmé found her hands and squeezed them tightly. “I have to do this,” she told her, “because if I don’t we’re going to lose everything.” She sighed. “And I can’t watch that happen again.”

Padmé glanced at her father and sister, who spoke no objection. She then turned to her companions, finding Anakin last. They each glimpsed the exhaustion in one another’s eyes, and that seemed to remind Padmé of their purpose there. She stepped aside.

“This is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” she introduced, and Anakin, though caught somewhat off guard, bowed to the Naberries. “He needs medical attention,” Padmé said.

He still hadn’t told her what had really happened on the ship. She probably thought there was something wrong with him.

Sola moved forward. “You can follow me, Master Skywalker.” She looked to the rest of them. “I’d be happy to help each of you clean your wounds and find you a bed to rest.” She hesitated at Ventress’s cold eye. “If that is what you would wish?”

“We are humbled by your kindness,” Draven answered, seeming to relieve Sola. He nodded to Jobal and Ruwee. “Thank you.”

They left to follow Sola into the villa, leaving Padmé with her parents. Anakin looked back to her, and she inclined her head. _Go._

He did.  
  


* * *

Ahsoka could only compare Varykino to the Jedi Temple. It was the one place in her mind grand enough to match the natural beauty and dignity of the world she inhabited now. The temple on Seoul V had probably been elegant in its day, but there was a vast difference between then and now, and thousands of years of corrosion had hollowed the structure from a gleaming gem into a rotted shell. Ahsoka wondered if that would have been a better fate for the Temple back on Coruscant, to decay rather than be gutted and made the dwelling of their enemy. She quickly found she didn't care to ponder the thought.

She instead let her mind wander to other things, slipping out of the room she had been shown to. It was almost suffocatingly decorative, ornaments and art stringing the walls, the bed sheets dizzyingly patterned. Next to her spartan quarters on Coruscant and then Seoul, the estate’s rooms could measure against the richest halls of Pantora’s palaces as far as she was concerned.

Treading under an archway that rested over the corridor leading outside, Ahsoka deftly stepped past the door, breathing in the warm night air and letting it sink in her chest. The nights had been cold on Seoul, given their altitude in the mountains, and she had never gotten used to it. Oftentimes, Dooku had made her tea to help cope with the frigid air — how it had managed not to bother him, she never understood — and now, even in the summery breeze, fine and pleasant as it was, she missed it. She didn't expect to.

She hugged herself, the clothes she had been given by Sola soft on her skin, slightly too big for her, and unfamiliar compared to the traditional robes and Jedi attire that she had worn her entire life. It was too early to tell if she cared for it or not.

She shuffled over to the balcony, the glassy tile beneath her catching her reflection. Her sigh turned to a heavy huff as she deposited her weight over the balcony ridge, staring at the lake, now dark save for the flicker of a few stars over its surface. She tilted her head up to the sky then, observing the lights that peeked through from breaches in the clouds. The stars swayed her thoughts to Anakin, the burning heat and glaring luminance of the being that had surfaced before her eyes finding her once again, fulfilling and denying everything that she had been told of. Before, when they had faced the soldiers in the swamps, when she had seen him fight for the first time, she paid close attention. It would not have been untrue to say that he moved like a Jedi, lithely and swift — like his feet did not touch the ground. He fought as if it were a dance; he was graceful and strikingly aggressive in a motion that was almost effortless, and she found herself wanting to emulate him, to follow his lead as he championed his forces in battle. He must have been a terrifying sight during the war.

There was something more than that, though. He did not even have to think as he came to blows, as he danced his deadly waltz and slayed five men at once without blinking. She could feel the way the Force streamed through him, hear how it sang. Ahsoka was sure not even Dooku possessed the same potency, despite his age and experience, and when the thought came to her she wondered how he would compare to Master Yoda. She remembered asking Dooku about it once, if the Chosen One could really rival the Grandmaster of the Order, and without hesitation he answered, _“A god would not concern his or herself with competition. We are as children playing with toys compared to their power. I’m afraid Master Yoda possesses no such divinity.”_

A god. She could not imagine him so. Gods were faraway and distant, cold like some ethereal moon, nothing like the warmth of his teasing smile or his bright eyes. And despite the ichor that she knew flowed in his veins, he himself seemed afraid of its capacity. Immortality was cause for fear. Could he live forever?, she wondered. Was his body an illusion? A skin in which he lived only for a time? The vision of the creature she had witnessed come forth before seemed to suggest so, but she couldn’t be sure. Not even Dooku knew the answer, but it didn’t give her pause. She had been afraid then, in that moment in which he writhed as he tore himself apart over and over again, but now, upon facing him, she was no longer frightened. She knew that it was her duty as a Jedi to follow him, that he carried the Force’s will, and it was her task to see it through. He inspired something more in his companions, and that had extended to her now. He was her teacher in another life, and she recognized the pride and affection that rested in his gaze; now she sought to return it.

The night was becoming colder now, and Ahsoka was tired. A bed was a luxury she had not seen in much time, and upon returning to her room she put herself and her thoughts to rest.

* * *

Padmé did not seek out her companions after they had been shown their quarters. What they needed most was a moment of repose, and she would not take that from them. She herself had had to escape, reluctantly leaving her family to have her thoughts to herself for as long as time would allow. Her mother would come find her later, she knew, but for now, she wanted to be alone.

Clovis did not give her long to enjoy it.

He sought her out quickly, finding her upon the high bridge balcony that hung over the villa and overlooked the lake. She recognized his footsteps as he approached, and she did not have to wonder what it was he wanted to speak of. He didn't say anything at first when he joined her, merely resting his arms on the railing next to her, staring at the water.

It was strange, being here with him. She had loved him once, appreciative and admiring of his ambitions and enlivened by his high spirits and humor. There was a charm to him that had allowed her to shed her persona as a politician, a sincerity that had accepted her as she was, removed from the pomp and circumstance and the power that could be garnered from her. They shared the same principles, and more than that, a desire to see the command of their struggling system restored to the people. Clovis had obviously been swayed far enough by that want — as well as greed, she lamented — to join the Separatists, but long before then she had already realized that she needed to break away.

He was a good man, she still believed that, despite his failings, deep as they ran, but she didn't want to _belong_ to him. Clovis was smothering, proprietorial almost, and it was draining to constantly remind him of her independence. As colleagues they had flourished, engaged in each other’s company and work, but as more, she found that the embers were no more than that. Over time, they smoldered, dying out easily and quietly, and Padmé had then distanced herself from Clovis, joining other committees and broadening her horizons. Their book had been closed then, and she was content with that.

Palpatine’s rise to power had eventually brought them together again a number of years later. She wasn’t surprised how he had returned to his often frantic worrying over her, and though there were of course days where his concern was valid, Padmé could see he still hadn’t learned his lesson, still hoping there was something to rekindle.

In that moment, she almost wanted to tell him to leave, but she recognized that it had taken him some courage to come to her, so she stayed silent, waiting for him to speak.

“Your mother is right,” he finally said, so quiet she nearly didn't hear him. She could tell he was pained by the implication, his words catching in his throat. “If you go to Theed — you’ll die.”

Padmé knew she was being difficult, but she didn’t care. She had her reasons, and she wouldn’t be talked into forfeiting her cause. “It is a great honor to die for one’s people.” She heard Clovis muffle a sigh, turning to face her.

“An even greater one to live for them,” he beseeched.

Padmé’s mask fell then, and she let her frustration bleed through. “Staying here and hiding is of no service to anyone,” she asserted, balling her fists. She didn't look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the lake. “Don’t ask me again. You know what my answer will be.”

She was taken aback when she felt hands on her upper arms, pulling and revolving her around to meet Clovis’s eyes. There was a desperate shadow lurking in them, fear dripping from his expression, but Padmé barely considered it. She was angry, and struggled as a warning, but Clovis held firm.

 _“Please,_ Padmé,” he begged. “Please don’t do this.”

She tried to wrestle from his grip again, but he still wouldn’t release her. “I’m _going!,”_ she snapped, thrashing about in indignation. She sounded like a child, but she could hardly care. Clovis simply shook his head in disbelief, and his grasp loosened. Padmé took it as an opportunity to rip herself away from him, her outrage still manifested shamelessly on her face. He looked at her tiredly, and she stared back unblinking. She was not usually so quick to anger, though she was furious now, and she absently blamed the war for her diminished patience.

Clovis was obviously defeated, his shoulders sunken in and his cheeks appearing hollow. His dirtied and ruined garb did little to ease the look of desperation that clouded his countenance, making a regal man belittled, and denigrated.

His voice quavered slightly with exhaustion, sounding empty and reluctant. “If the Jedi asked you to stay — would you?”

Padmé faltered, but it was too late, he had seen her hesitation, and she looked away. “He would not ask that of me,” she answered.

“And why not?” There was no emotion in his words, and Padmé found it unnerved her.

“Because he understands that I’ve already made my choice,” she contended. “And he accepts it.” It was the truth. After a moment she added, with a hint of bitterness, “It is the least he could do.” Clovis did not have a response for that. “I have lost and struggled for all this time,” she continued, “and I will not abandon my friends to finish this fight alone. I will win this war or die trying.”

That seemed to be the final straw, and Padmé saw something in Clovis break. She had exhausted her sympathy for him now, though, and she didn't flinch.

“Padmé,” he started slowly, wearier than she had ever heard him, “I just want to keep you safe.”

She turned back to the lake then, sighing. “I know. But you can’t.” The image of Seoul’s setting sun, the Jedi’s face, and a japor snippet flashed in her mind. “I made a promise.”

* * *

Anakin wasn't sure how to process his feelings, standing in the spot where he had pledged himself to his wife, alone now, the sole carrier of that memory. He remembered in vivid clarity the moment Padmé had told him of her plan, that they would run away to Naboo to wed, free from the eyes of the Jedi and the Senate and the galaxy itself, consequences be damned.

As much as Anakin had been floored by her proposition, he had never been happier. It didn't matter that there was no audience, no traditional ceremony — they had each other; slaves married in secret anyway.

To stand there became too much for him after a few minutes though, and Anakin forced himself to leave, wandering blankly around the estate. Its beauty was dull to him now, and tired, he turned to make the journey back to his room. He didn’t expect to run into Jobal.

His surprise obviously seemed to humor her, as did his immediate and clumsy bow in acknowledgement.

“Madame Naberrie,” he stuttered, nearly calling her by her first name, as he was used to. “My apologies, I didn’t realize—”

“There is no need to be sorry, Master Jedi,” she cut in, but not rudely. “It was Skywalker, wasn’t it?”

He blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Jobal,” her eyes glittered with humor and she smiled softly. “I’m honored to meet you then, Master Skywalker. Thank you for delivering my daughter here safely.”

Anakin blanched at first, but then smiled back. “I’m at your service, Madame, but in truth it was Padmé who delivered us here without incident,” he told her. “We never would have made it here without her.”

She laughed lightly at that, her age audible in her vocal chords. By the look on her face, however, it was apparent that this conflict had worn her much thinner than the years ever had. Jobal then quieted, her features falling more somber. Her eyes flitted to the bridge above them before stilling, her voice much older than it had been seconds before. “Do you believe this war will end soon?,” she asked.

Anakin could feel the pit in her stomach, growing faster in the seconds that he did not provide an answer. He looked at her and saw his own mother, small and cautiously hopeful, only wishing for the safety of her child.

“It will,” he promised.

Jobal tried to smile again, and her attempt cut him, his heart clenching harshly between his ribs. “I hope you are right,” she lilted, “for my daughter’s sake.” She paused. “She tells me you are leaving in the morning.” Anakin nodded, and the affirmation seemed to add a decade onto her slight frame. “Master Skywalker,” Jobal began, “may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She folded her hands together, apprehensive. “Please look after Padmé. I know she won’t stay here — she cannot, she would not allow herself.” There was no doubt that Jobal had attempted to coax Padmé to remain with them a second time, to no avail. “Wherever you go from here, tell me that you will protect her.”

At her request, Anakin had no will to waver, and without hesitation he bowed to her once more. “I’d die before I’d let anything happen to her,” he swore. When he met her gaze again, he caught something flicker in her eyes, but the return of her solemn smile gave him pause, and it escaped his thoughts.

“Thank you, Master Skywalker,” she said, inclining her head, still wearing her smile. “I’ll bid you goodnight.”

She left him then, her silhouette fading in the shadows cast by the villa’s walls, and he felt strange watching her go. Suddenly, the last thing he wanted was to return to his room, and so he lingered, sauntering up to one of the open balconies for fresh air. He stared at his feet as he made his way up the stairs, trying to keep his eyes from wandering. It wouldn’t help him to reminisce. He was so fixated on keeping his sight lowered that he was completely unaware of Padmé’s presence until he reached the flight’s peak, finding her gazing out over the starlit water. He felt awkward about intruding on her peace, and was about to slip back down the stairs without a word when she spoke.

“I heard you talking to my mother,” she said, her back turned to him. Anakin faltered, graceless and gauche as he fumbled for a response, but Padmé just looked over her shoulder and smiled at his stiff expression. “Come see the lake,” she beckoned. He shuffled up beside her slowly, his arms at his sides as he did as he was told. The water glittered with the lights of the atmosphere above, tranquil and captivating.

“I always feel at peace when I’m here,” Padmé professed, quiet. “Like nothing else exists.”

Anakin nodded in understanding, and was caught off guard by her next question.

“Is that what the Force feels like?”

He blanked, flailing for an answer, trying to push away his fears of himself. “It — feels like . . .”

He thought of Obi-Wan, in the heat of a sparring session with him, danger and vigor driving him forward; Qui-Gon and his larger-than-life presence, the certainty with which he had assured him of his freedom. He thought of Ahsoka, her bright fulfillment and anticipation as she was finally knighted. He recalled the thrum of his heart, the vivid lights that danced behind his eyelids when Padmé kissed him for the first time. He blushed then, grateful for the darkness.

“It feels like hearing a song that was composed just for you,” he said, almost breathless. “Like feeling the fear of falling and then remembering you can fly. Like seeing the sun for the first time in years and feeling it touch your skin.” Obi-Wan would have been able to articulate it far better than him, more clinically and with greater purpose, but the answer seemed to satisfy Padmé. She laughed, and the sound eased him.

“You describe it so intimately,” she murmured, intrigued. “I’m almost envious.” She looked at him then. “But you speak of it like it’s something you’ve let go of.”

He hesitated, unsure of what to say. He sighed after a moment, looking away into the darkness of the lake. “On the ship — I leaned too far into the Force — too deeply. And I hurt my friends.” His throat felt dry. “Dooku told me it was the key to anchoring myself if I was taken again. But if that’s what's going to happen . . . I don’t want any part of it.”

Padmé inclined her head lightly, considering his words. Anakin could sense something within her swell, like a boldness that was rising to the surface, bright and fearless. And then she spoke.

“Can you show me what they saw?”

Anakin nearly leapt backwards with horror, confusion and bewilderment and alarm stricken on his face. He backed away from her a few paces, shaking his head. “No!,” he cried. “No, no I couldn’t. I . . . I’d hurt you.” Though he didn't speak it, and though it didn’t nearly measure the length to which the former scared him, he was terrified of her seeing him for what he really was, and he flinched when she took a step towards him.

“I’m not afraid of that,” she consoled gently. “Show me.”

“I can’t.” His voice trembled, and he backed away again.

“Why?”

She was so stubborn, like him, he reminded himself, but Anakin didn’t budge. “Padmé, I just promised your mother I’d protect you—”

“And just as that is your duty, I also have a responsibility to look after you in turn,” she asserted. “I intend on keeping my word. All I want to do is help you.” She reached for him then, and Anakin was silent. She took his flesh hand in hers, and her grip was warm. “Please,” she appealed. He stared at her.

“W-will you close your eyes?,” he asked, his breath hitching. Padmé nodded, finding his other hand. He felt her shiver at the cold of the prosthetic — he had removed his glove earlier to clean it — but she held on, her eyes falling shut. Anakin steadied himself, his breathing shaky. “I don’t know what’ll happen,” he warned. She simply squeezed his hands in response; to assure him or herself he didn’t know, but he let his own eyes close in the seconds that followed, tentatively reaching out.

He thought of Padmé as an anchor — she was his center — and he felt the beat of her heart fall in sync with his as his breath became more composed. Gradually, he extended himself further, keeping his focus on his concentration and awareness, unwilling to let himself slip into a state that he couldn’t escape from. Deeper he began to fall into the trance, and as his body warmed, he hesitated, fear willing him to open his eyes. He went rigid, afraid to go further when he felt Padmé squeeze his hands again to soothe his unease. He gasped with a small shudder, and steeled himself to keep going, inhaling deeply and holding her hands more tightly. He let himself drift further, slowly, and as the seconds passed he could feel the familiar heat infiltrating his blood and prickling at his nerves. Even as he continued to sink, he kept his mind on the sensation of Padmé’s fingers curled around his, and as the fire inside him began to reach its pitch, he leaned into her for support, and she accepted the weight of his forehead against hers. Anakin breathed heavily then, tremoring as Padmé whispered something to him — he didn’t hear what — and almost didn’t even feel himself unopening until the moment she herself stiffened, holding her breath as ash filtered into her nostrils and massive looming wings brushed lightly against her.

Anakin felt Padmé flinch, but she didn’t open her eyes, and she soon leaned back into him, pressing her brow firmly into his, bridging the gap between their noses. The heat was radiating over her unforgivingly, but if it bothered her she made no indication, and she moved one of her hands up to cup his face, weaving her fingers through the feathers and fire and shifting skin. Now, it was not tar and oil that spewed from him, choking him and clogging his throat, but liquid gold, softly flowing and delicate in the way it circulated through his veins. He did not feel as if he was being ripped apart; instead, it was like emerging from a cocoon, his transformation continuous and hallowing. He consciously gathered his wings around Padmé, cradling her form in a reverent embrace with the breadth of his plumage, and this time she didn’t shudder. Her fingers began to drift once more, her thumb grazing over Anakin’s lips, and his breath jerked again. Before either of them could move, he gently removed her hand from his face, holding it still in midair.

“Is something wrong?,” Padmé whispered, her eyelids flickering slightly.

He faltered, trying to find an answer. “No . . . I just . . . don’t know how long I can hold this.”

She reached up to feel his face again, cupping his cheek. For a moment, they remained that way, silent save for the distant hum of the Force as it sheltered them before Anakin suddenly plummeted back into his human frame, heaving as he fell into Padmé’s arms. She caught his weight with a startled “Oomph!,” blinking her eyes open as he tried to steady himself. His whole body felt numb, and he could only stand there recovering. Padmé laughed gently as he exhaled, his face nestled in the crook of her neck.

“Sorry,” Anakin mumbled, breathless.

She smiled. “See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re safe.”

Anakin sighed, gathering his courage. “Padmé?,” he murmured, lifting his neck to remove the weight of his head from her shoulder.

“Yes?,” she asked, still holding him.

He pulled back from her a bit, holding her eyes with his own. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She looked curiously at him, but a quiver of movement below in the plaza caught her attention, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted Clovis, staring up at them. It was too dark and he was too far away for her to gauge his expression, but the sight of him made her still, and she felt herself grow cold.

“Padmé—,” Anakin began.

“It’s getting late,” she abruptly stated, warranting a surprised and concerned blink from him. She followed Clovis’s retreating form until he disappeared into the night, hastily returning to Anakin once she lost sight of him.

He shifted. “I—”

“We need to get out of here early if we’re going to make it to Theed.” An apologetic frown crossed her face.

“. . . I understand,” he finally answered, his gaze falling from her back to his feet. After a second he nodded, formally as if greeting a dignitary, and gingerly stepped around her to leave for his quarters. Padmé watched him go grudgingly, clamping down on her jaw to keep herself from calling him back. She thought that was the last she would see of him for the night when he turned around at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide and startlingly young.

“Thank you.”

Her lips lifted, parting to show her teeth as he returned the gesture. “Goodnight Anakin,” she smiled.

He nodded to her again, softer this time, his gaze lingering wistfully. He looked down, then back at her once more, seeming to have aged ten years in between the seconds that his eyes left and met hers.“Goodnight,” he whispered. And he left.

Padmé tried not to think about where they might be had she asked him to stay.

* * *


End file.
